Magic on the High Seas
by KatHarkness-Katara
Summary: Newly of-age Newt Scamander is traveling to America in search of an apprenticeship. Over the course of the journey, he meets a certain MACUSA auror and numerous other people. It's just a pity he meets the auror when his niffler is on the loose... PLEASE READ BEGINNING NOTE FIRST


**AN: There is a significant trigger/squick warning for this story, but it's also a spoiler. If you feel you might want the warning and don't mind the spoiler, please scroll to the bottom of the page.**

 **Magic on the High Seas**

Newt Scamander kept a tight grip on his suitcase as he boarded the ship. He didn't want his creatures to be too badly jostled – he wasn't sure he'd got the charms keeping the contents stable perfect yet. He'd managed to avoid Steerage, so he'd at least have a little privacy to tend to his menagerie.

He presented his ticket to the steward at the head of the boarding ramp, and followed the man to his cabin. It was a more than decent room, with a comfortable bed and a sofa against the other wall, with a small sink and shaving mirror. Newt set down his case next to the bed, opened it, and clambered in.

"I really must get something better than a rope ladder," he muttered as he descended into his work room. It was mostly empty, with spaces waiting to be filled. Two of the five bookshelves were crowded; only a quarter of the potion ingredient jars were even partly full. It was a workshop waiting for the work to come in. A barn owl slept on a perch. "Maybe some sort of step-stairs? What do you think, Pickett?" Newt continued.

He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out the thin, sickly, bowtruckle. His normal vibrant green skin was yellowed and even brown in places. The leaves on his head were wilted. Newt sighed and gently stroked the leaves.

"You really need more proper sun," he said. "That's why you're with me, eh? Proper sun, some brisk sea air, not the artificial stuff I've got down here."

Pickett churred, and curled possessively around Newt's thumb. The budding magizoologistic smiled fondly, and left the little shed directly beneath the case's hatch.

Outside, he'd managed to create a small garden area, with his ash tree of bowtruckles, a basket for his crup puppy, a sofa piled with cushions for the puffskeins (and the kneazle, when he could winkle him out of his coat), and a fire pit for the salamanders. It wasn't perfect; he had to turn the "sun" on and off manually, and water the tree and grasses periodically, but he hoped he's be able to make it a more suitable habitat soon. Newt pulled Samson the kneazle out of his inside pocket, popped him on a sofa cushion next to James and John the puffskeins, and went looking for his newest charge.

"Niffler!" he called. "Niffy-niffy-niffler!" It probably wasn't a terribly good call, and it didn't work. Newt sighed, retreated to his shed, and found an old copper stirring rod. A quick spell polished it up, and Newt went back to niffler-hunting. "Niffler! I've a nice shiny thing for you!"

A black, furry blur leapt out from beneath the sofa and grabbed the rod. Newt held his end firmly and the creature hung in the air. Newt snatched it and let it have its treasure.

"Well, what shall we make for you?" Newt asked it. "There's not the depth for a proper burrow, but maybe…" He sat on the sofa and pointed his wand at a currently unused patch of ground. It shrugged, a small cave-like den forming beneath the inch-and-a-half of soil. Another flick, and the soil immediately on the edges solidified. Newt casually threw a few knuts into the den, and released the niffler, who scampered straight to the den. The rod was pulled from his pouch and set by the entrance, while the knuts were reverently piled opposite. Newt smiled as the Niffler curled up happily.

"Good Niffy," he murmured. "Isn't this much nicer than the cage those nasty thieves kept you in?" Niffy made a squeaking noise, and squirmed against the coins. "You just like getting to keep your loot, don't you?" Newt chuckled. "Well, as you want. I had to delay doing the morning rounds to get you, you know? It was my last morning in London. My last chance to recue you. I only had time to switch on the light."

The crup trotted over, and whined at Newt. "Yes, yes. Feeding time," Newt told it. "Just give me a minute." He returned once more to the hut, to fetch meat and insects, and pepper and wood for the salamanders and their fire.

* * *

Newt braved the crowds once again to watch the ship leave port. Everyone on board was packed onto the decks, nudging and jostling and waving; Newt could hardly see the city. He didn't stay too long, retreating to the second class smoking room as soon as he could without seeming rude.

The muggles seemed to have a strange preoccupation with separating men and women, and their segregation of the classes would give the more obsessive purebloods…unfortunate ideas. Newt did not comment; it would not do to advertise his difference in world view. But he did wish it was the library and not the smoking room that would be more typically occupied by the men.

He pushed his case under an armchair and flopped down. He pulled out a book, a collection of treatises on the care of assorted dragons with a glamour over the covers to make it look like an inoffensive book of muggle poetry. Hopefully no-one would ask him about it.

After some time the room started to fill with other passengers. Newt eventually rose, retrieved his case and headed out onto the deck.

* * *

Newt slid between two lifeboats and leant against the railing. Shielded somewhat from view, he gently encouraged Pickett to emerge from his pocket and soak up the sunlight. The sky hung with clouds, but Pickett cooed at the light regardless.

The lump of Samson in his coat twitched, and the feline's head popped out. Newt rested his elbow on the rail to gently scratch his pet behind the ear. After a moment, Samson started purring.

Pickett squeaked. "Oh, don't be jealous," Newt murmured. "If I start rubbing your head, it'll just block out all your lovely sun."

Pickett let out a slightly mournful chirp, and hugged Newt's lapel. Newt sighed, and paused in scratching Samson momentarily to pat his little bowtruckle. Pickett chirped again, mollified.

Newt stared out into the waves. Beneath the surface may be kelpies, or lobalugs, perhaps a shoal of shrake, or maybe even a particularly adventurous sea serpent or hippocampus. But this was a muggle ship. He'd have to charter a wizard yacht to explore the seas for creatures.

Hmm, perhaps there were non-European merpeople who could give him some pointers…

A distressed cry caught his attention, and he whipped his head around. From the direction of the First Class promenade, a woman was yelling about her bracelet being missing. Newt glanced at the case at his feet and cursed. One of the clasps had popped open. He grabbed it, and slipped across to the other promenade.

The woman in a flap looked like some rich heiress, accompanied by her mother. A few well-dressed gentlemen were attending to the ladies solicitously, and Newt narrowed his eyes. A black streak sped past the probably-mother's neck, and her silver and pearl necklace was ripped away. Newt dashed off after it.

The black furred niffler soon found itself cornered, with Newt coming at him on one side and another well-dressed man, this one somewhat familiar, on the other. The gentleman had a set of nice shiny collar pins that seemed to seize the niffer's attention. It leapt for his throat.

Newt flung himself forward in an attempt to catch his wayward creature, but the other man got it first. Newt crashed into him, his own hands wrapping around the niffler's stomach as he struggled to remain upright.

"Sorry," he gasped. "That would be mine. Sorry."

The other man grabbed his elbow to steady him. "That's not a muggle animal, is it," he said flatly.

"A mug- ah, that is- you mean you're…" Newt trailed off, freeing one hand from the niffler to make a wand-waving sort of motion.

"Niffler. Thieves of shiny objects, and definitely not a standard beast," the other man stated, stressing the classification ʻbeastʼ ever so slightly.

"Um, yes. Definitely a magical beast," Newt confirmed. "I should just, um…" He used his free hand to dig into the niffler's pouch and retrieve the stolen jewellery.

The other man sighed. "Percival Graves. MACUSA auror." He held out a hand.

"Um, pleased to meet you." Newt went to shake Graves' hand, but his own was full of niffler. "Newt Scamander. Magizoloogy apprentice. Hopefully."

"Right. Well. We should deal with your… _pet's_ …thieving tendencies," Graves said.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course," Newt stuttered. "Uh…yes." He'd left his case behind when he started chasing the niffler, so he shoved it into his coat pocket next to Samson. Then he turned back to the distraught ladies.

"Excuse me, ladies," he started nervously. "I, uh…here." He held out the jewellery.

The younger lady quickly reclaimed her bracelet. "I'm sure I saw some sort of animal," the older lady complained.

"Uh, yes, well," Newt mumbled. He reached back into his coat, and half-pulled Samson out. "My kitten. Terribly sorry. Won't happen again."

"Funny ears," the woman said suspiciously.

"Yes, well. Odd one of the litter," Newt replied, looking at the deck. He apologised once again and backed away. He grabbed his case and was about to slip away when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was Graves. "I think we need to talk, Mr Scamander," the auror said quietly. "This way."

He started to steer Newt towards the First Class public rooms. "Oh, no," Newt spluttered. "I'm not really meant to be here. Second class."

"You're here as my guest," Graves said firmly. "I'll vouch for you if challenged."

"Most- most gracious," Newt mumbled.

Graves led him into the First Class lounge and claimed a small table. Newt slid his case under his chair before sitting.

"So, first you let a niffler loose, then you pass off a kneazle as a cat," Graves started. "What's next? A fwooper as a songbird?"

Newt frowned. "I don't have a fwooper."

Graves sighed. "Mr Scamanader. I'm sure you're aware that in America we've had problems with secrecy."

"Yes, your…isolation from muggles," Newt mumbled.

"No-maj, we call them," Graves corrected gently. "Currently, private ownership of magical beasts requires specific permits. Were you aware of that?"

"Um, no," Newt replied, focusing on the table. "There're only a few beasts that require licences in Britain."

Graves closed his eyes, looking almost as though he was trying to fend off a fit of temper. "You said you were a magizoologist. Do you have the ICW universal permit?"

"Um, not exactly," Newt flushed. "I'm trying to get an apprenticeship. That's why I'm coming to New York. Can't get one in Britain. Pureblood politics."

"And yet you're bringing at least two animals with you," Graves observed. Newt flinched. "Any other beasts?"

"Um…" Newt hesitated. His hand moved towards Pickett's pocket.

Graves sighed. "Look, it might be possible to arrange for a temporary dispensation before you arrive at New York conditional upon you finding a master and agreeing to joint custody within a week or two. But I'd have to know what you've got."

Newt sighed. "Seven bowtruckles, three salamanders, two puffskeins, a crup and one post owl."

"And the niffler and the kneazle," Graves confirmed.

Newt nodded. Graves reached into his pocket and started noting things down. "Bowtruckles aren't generally domesticated," he said, thinking aloud. "Some keep them as lock picks, but generally they need their tree."

"I have a tree," Newt blurted. "In my case. Extension charm."

Graves noted that. "Salamanders need fire, do they not?"

"They live as long as the fire from which they are birthed burns," Newt clarified. "I have a firepit. I add more wood every day, and I leave pepper out in case they want to roam a little."

"The fire is also in the case?" Graves raised an eyebrow.

"In a charmed pit," Newt nodded. "It's contained. It's not a risk to the bowtruckles' tree, and there's a ward over it that only the salamanders can pass through."

"Warded to prevent spreading," Graves murmured as he wrote it down. "Puffskeins, they don't have any particular requirements, I believe?"

"No, no, just regular feeding, and they like a bit of company, and somewhere cosy to nap," Newt explained.

"And that's in your case as well?" Graves asked. "Perhaps you should just explain what's in your case."

"Oh, well, it's got two compartments. One's just a normal case, muggle-worthy. The other one started as a study and workshop, but I extended it." Newt babbled on for a minute, explaining about his garden, with the tree and the firepit and the sunshine charms. Graves took a fresh page in his notebook to describe Newt's ʻmagical apparatusʼ, as he headed the page.

"And you keep everything about our world in there," Graves clarified. "Cauldrons, books, and so on."

"Well, not my wand, and I sometimes have a book in pocket, but always with a glamoured cover," Newt explained.

"That's a very good precaution," Graves nodded approvingly. "Now, back to your creatures. I believe crups require a licence and their tails removed?"

"He's too young, and he's only a half-blood crup," Newt protested quickly.

"You'll have to explain that," Graves said calmly. "Beasts aren't exactly my speciality."

"Well, crups are very loyal to wizards and ferocious to muggles, mo-maj," Newt explained. "They're difficult to control in mug- no-maj areas. But Vladimir's not given me trouble whenever I've carried him through London." Newt frowned, then continued. "Might be because he's still just a month old. And that's why I haven't removed his tail yet, not for another few weeks. And he doesn't have a normal forked tail. There's a little vestigial bit sticking off what would otherwise be a normal muggle – no-maj – dog's tail. I was just going to remove the extra bit."

"You'll have to run that past an official in the Beast Division," Graves nodded, scribbling furiously. "And keep it out of sight until then, and until you know how it really does react to no-maj."

"I was intending to do that anyway," Newt mumbled.

"Good," Graves replied absently. "Kneazles, they also need licences?"

"I have one," Newt nodded. "Got it when I got Samson four years ago."

"Samson being the kneazle, I assume," Graves stated. Newt nodded. "And the owl is no real problem. The niffler, though; will that cause further problems?"

"Um, I don't think so. Maybe," Newt admitted. "I, erm, I only got him this morning…" He trailed off. Graves gestured for him to continue. "I spotted this man using him to rob a bank. He was using a spelled leash. I tagged it with a tracking charm, and followed them. I…well, I stole the niffler, then gave the muggle police an anonymous tip-off. Made sure everyone was dosed with a sleeping potion before I left."

"Did you tell the aurors?" Graves asked.

"I told my brother Theseus. He's an auror," Newt offered.

Graves smiled. "You're Theseus' brother? I thought you might, but I didn't want to ask."

"Er, well, yes," Newt confirmed. "You know him?"

"We met during a conference when we were both trainees," Graves nodded. "We kept in contact. I saw him just last week."

"You came over for the security summit?" Newt asked. "I thought most of the delegations took portkeys."

"Well, a friend bought my ticket," Graves admitted, smiling thinly. "Apparently I don't take enough vacation days, and a short pleasure cruise is just what I need."

"Must be good friend," Newt commented.

"She is, yes," Graves said. "So. The niffler. How do you intend to keep it under control?"

"Not sure," Newt admitted. "I did leave him in the case. I don't know how he got out."

"Well, maybe the spelled leash wasn't such a bad idea," Graves commented. Newt blanched, and Graves sighed. "You could seal the case?"

"That would only work short term," Newt mused. "I need to allow airflow."

"No environmental spells for that?"

"I'm working on it," Newt frowned. "I was hoping that allowing Niffy to keep some shiny things would curb his habits."

Graves put down his pen. "You called it Niffy?"

Newt blushed. "It was the first thing that came to mind."

Graves pinched his brow. "So you have fifteen beasts with no MACUSA licences. Do you have a wand permit at least?"

"I sent in the application three weeks ago, but Isaac came back empty-handed. Isaac's my owl," Newt explained.

"We do advise leaving six weeks, but I suppose we can chase it up when we reach New York," Graves sighed. "A permit for your suitcase may also be required; I'd have to check with my superior. It may well fall into the category of "enchanted no-maj items". That would basically just be registering it in case it changes hands, and signing a declaration that you understand it's potential to reveal us. But having the non-enchanted compartment should be enough to pass it as acceptable."

"Thank you," Newt mumbled. "And my creatures?"

"As I said, that would probably be dependent on you getting your apprenticeship," Graves said. "Do you have an AWL in Creature Care?"

"A- A what, sorry?" Newt asked.

"Advanced Wizarding Level," Graves elaborated.

"We, ah, don't call them that," Newt mumbled. "And Hogwarts doesn't offer Care to that level. I got an Outstanding in my OWL, though."

"That's good," Graves acknowledged. He took yet another new page and continued taking notes. "What other OWLS do you have?"

"Er, the core classes," Newt mumbled. "Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy."

"Not History? And what about electives?"

Newt snorted. "Only about ten per cent of Hogwarts students pass History. I took Divination, but I was rubbish at it. All about making up reasons why everybody's doomed. I did some private study in Arithmancy and Runes, though. For the suitcase. Not at OWL standard, though."

"Mm-hmm." Graves noted it all down. "And AWL equivalent?"

"Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions," Newt reeled off. "Charms is pretty basic, transfiguration can be useful, and herbology and potions can both be relevant to beast care."

"But not astronomy," Graves nodded. "And when did you receive these qualifications?"

"Just before Christmas."

Graves paused. "In the middle of the school year?"

Newt bit his lip. "I left Hogwarts partway through my fifth year. I've been independently studying ever since. About two years now."

Graves kept writing. "I take it this is why you've had problems getting an apprenticeship in Britain?" he asked.

"It's…related to it," Newt mumbled.

"Well, there's good news, Mr Scamander," Graves said. "The Beast Division has been recruiting with limited success for several years now. They might be willing to take a chance on you and offer a governmental apprenticeship. They might want you to do your Care AWL at Ilvermorny first, but you might get someone to sign off on your creatures. No promises here, but you've got prospects."

Newt smiled in relief. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "That's…thank you."

Graves' lips twitched in a small smile. "I joined the aurors to help people. It's my job."

Newt tilted his head. "This is above and beyond your job. I have a father and a brother for aurors, remember."

Graves smiled self-depreciatingly. "I look at it like this. I can help you with your situation now, or I can arrest you when it becomes a matter of violating the Statute. Which one benefits me more?"

"But still," Newt murmured.

"Well, perhaps you can repay me for this favour," Graves suggested.

Newt was instantly on his guard. This auror had been very kind, and seemed interested in his creatures beyond how much danger they posed. But repaying a favour could be dangerous. He'd learnt that at Hogwarts. "What do you want?" he asked warily.

"I could do with a little company," Graves smiled. "All these no-maj, who can I talk to?"

Newt considered it. It didn't seem like much. "That sounds…reasonable," he hedged.

"There is another matter," Graves said. "You are aware that our respective governments aid in the relocation of wizarding families if they request it?"

Newt relaxed, understanding what Graves was referring to. "Yes, the Department of International Magical Cooperation and I believe yours is called the Department of the Embassy?"

"That's it," Graves nodded. "Well, there are three wizarding families migrating to America on this ship."

Newt nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Theseus mentioned them. He asked me to keep an eye on them."

"I was asked to, as well," Graves said. "I think perhaps we can do that together."

"Yes, I do believe so," Newt agreed.

* * *

Newt scrambled down the rope ladder with ease. Graves followed behind him somewhat slower. The ladder swung wildly, and Newt grabbed it to steady it. "Thank you," Graves said as he dropped down. "You might want to think about replacing that."

"I have, but I'm not sure what with," Newt mumbled. "A ladder, or some stairs, or perhaps a sort of charmed elevator. I'm not sure yet." He scooped Samson out of his pocket and deposited him on the work bench, where he mewled in affront. Newt ignored him; seizing Niffy from the other pocket, he shrugged off the coat and hung it on a peg with his free hand. "Come on, then," he said. "My garden's through here." He opened the door.

Sunlight streamed through. Samson leapt through the door, and Pickett chittered from where he'd climbed on top of Newt's head. Niffy, still caught in Newt's grip, made a strange sort of pleading noise, and Newt let him go. He scampered off to his den.

Graves followed Newt out into the garden. "A quite impressive set-up, for a school dropout," he whistled. At Newt's disgruntled look, he hurriedly clarified. "As opposed to a specialist."

"I did spend some time working out how to extend the charms," Newt said, affronted. "The basic case is meant to give a wizard a private workspace if he's at risk of nosy muggles. I built on the framework."

"As I said, quite impressive," Graves said smoothly. "May I run some diagnostic charms?"

Newt nodded, and bent to stroke Vladimir. Graves pulled out his wand, some sort of black wood, highly polished with a silver knob on the end. He waved it, and coloured pulses flew out and returned. Newt didn't bother trying to work out what he was casting; he'd seen Theseus practising diagnostic charms and knew that they were near-impossible for an observer to identify.

"I'm guessing you need to leave the case open for several hours every week or two?" Graves asked. "Your environmental charm's a little weak."

"I…couldn't work out how to strengthen it without risking damage to the tree," Newt explained. "But having the tree makes it easier. It cleans the air somewhat."

Graves nodded thoughtfully, and turned his attention to the fire pit. After another few spells, he nodded in satisfaction. "Your barrier ward is charmed to allow creatures with a specific magic signature and gases through, but not fluids or solids," he mused. "How do you…ah, a temporary-removal rune."

"Theseus helped me with that," Newt murmured. "He said that ward is based on one used in holding cells."

"It is, yes," Graves confirmed. "A little more thorough. Cells don't normally have a temperature-limit on them. But the signature-recognition is a little strange. We generally just use the removal. The signature-recognition is only used for extremely high risk prisoners. I'm surprised Theseus knew it."

"It's not restricted knowledge," Newt protested. "I think he asked around, or borrowed the ward schemes or something."

Graves nodded. "What are they called?" He gestured to the salamanders.

"Ah, that one's Jupiter, he's got the largest head," Newt said. "And the one with the longer tail is Neptune, and the one with the funny leg is Pluto."

"They're all male?" Graves asked, surprised.

"Not exactly," Newt shrugged. "Salamanders – fire salamanders, that is; not the muggle type – they spontaneously generate from frog's eggs incubated in a fire. They don't reproduce, so they don't have sexual organs, so they're not exactly male or female."

"They come from frog's eggs incubated in fire?" Graves asked, surprised.

"Yes, they do," Newt nodded. "And it has to be a magical fire, although it doesn't need to be fed further magic to sustain them. And it has to be frog's eggs, not toad, or any other type of amphibian. There might be more restrictions on it than that, but I had to cut short my experiments."

"When you left Hogwarts?" Graves asked.

Newt tensed, then nodded. "Yes, when I left Hogwarts. This clutch were birthed in my twelfth attempt. Needless to say, I ended up with a lot of crispy frogspawn. I managed to gather up the fire and take it and the salamanders home with me."

"Did you have the case then?"

"Yes, and it was already holding the tree," Newt answered. "I had to put the salamander fire in a cauldron, which wasn't ideal but worked."

Graves rose from his crouch by the fire pit. "Tell me about your bowtruckles," he requested.

Newt went over to the tree. "These bowtruckles had lived in a yew tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts," he explained. "Several wandmakers like harvesting from the forest because the centaur herd can tell them which trees are of wand quality, but the bowtruckles make that difficult. So when the yew tree died and the bowtruckles moved to an ash sapling, the wandmakers wanted them….removed. So I…stole the sapling and kept the bowtruckles safe."

Graves whistled. "I'm not sure if that would be legal or not, but I would imagine there was quite a flap if the wandmakers had planted the sapling," he said.

Newt bowed his head and nodded. "Yes, but no-one found out who did it, and when they tried investigating the centaurs made such a fuss they just assumed they'd taken it."

"So what are they called?" Graves asked.

Newt looked up at the tree. "Er, there's…Bobby, and Billy, and…yes, there's Berty, and Bessy, and Betty, and…Bethy, she's just hiding behind that branch. And this is Pickett." He reached up and pulled the youngest bowtruckle out of his hair.

"Bobby, Billy, Berty, Bessy, Betty, Bethy and Pickett?" Graves asked. "Did you run out of ʻb-yʼ names?"

"Well, that and Pickett's the firstborn of the new generation," Newt flushed. "He's a bit sick; that's why I'm keeping him in my pocket for a bit of real sun."

"I hope you're keeping him out of sight?" Graves frowned.

"For the most part," Newt hedged. "And I'm careful when I let him out. No point keeping him out of the case if I don't let him get his sunshine."

Graves had a slightly pinched look, so Newt tried to look as earnest as possible. Graves merely sighed, and bent down to the dog basket. "And this is Vladimir?"

The puppy sat up and yipped happily. Newt watched as he gave in and started stroking Vladimir. "Friendly, isn't he?" Newt smiled.

"Very much so," Graves agreed. "How did you get him?"

"Theseus got him for me two weeks ago. Going away present," Newt murmured. "He thought Vladimir was docile enough to be safe, and loyal enough to keep me safe."

"A decent choice," Grave nodded approvingly. He gave Vladimir one last pat and moved on to the two puffskeins. "I don't think these are much threat," he said.

"James and John," Newt said helpfully. "You'd be surprised how many pets are brought to Hogwarts and either abandoned or abused. These belonged to a pair of first years who liked to kick them around. They didn't make a fuss when they, ah, went missing."

"A nice little collection," Graves mused.

"ʻCollectionʼ?" Newt spluttered. "They're not some collection, they're my friends."

"No offense was intended," Graves retracted hastily. "I can see you're doing all you can to care for them."

"They're such wonderful, fantastic creatures," Newt whispered. "How can I not do all I can for them?"

"How indeed?" Graves smiled.

* * *

Newt sat easily at the table in the Steerage lounge with Graves. It had not taken long for him to warm to the auror; not after seeing how he treated the creatures. It had been a risk, sharing his precious beasts with a near-stranger, but Graves had already offered leniency in dealing with them, and demonstrating how harmless they were would allow Graves to give a good report. It seemed to have worked. A pleasant hour or so spent in the case's garden, Vladimir on Graves' lap and James on the auror's shoulder, and a conversation on the different beast laws and the reasoning behind them, and Newt felt sure they would be fast friends by the end of the voyage.

The ship had stopped just off the coast of France to take on more passengers, and Graves had made arrangements to meet the wizarding families around that time. He'd decided it would be more prudent to meet in the Steerage public rooms initially and Newt agreed.

Newt kept a jar of woodlice in his coat pocket, and dropped one into his breast pocket. There was an appreciative chirp, followed by the sound of crunching. Graves sighed, but his mouth twitched as though restraining a smile. Then he produced a chunk of ham. "For Samson," he murmured. Newt smiled, thanked him, and fed the treat to the kneazle peeking out of his coat.

"Excuse me?" A middle-aged woman with frizzy blonde hair asked. "I'm looking for a Mr Graves."

"That would be me," Graves said, standing. He took her hand and shook it. "And this is Mr Scamander. He's seeking an apprenticeship in Magizoology in New York."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs…?" Newt said, rising and offering his hand.

"Goldstein, Primadora Goldstein," the woman introduced herself. "And this is my daughter, Queenie. Say hello, Queenie."

A little, equally blonde girl peeked out from behind her mother's skirts. "'Ello," she mumbled in a way that reminded Newt of how Bessy would get all bashful around Berty. The girl cocked her head and frowned. "Oo's Bessy and Berty?"

"A- you- um…" Newt spluttered.

"She's got a natural talent in the mental arts," Mrs Goldstein explained apologetically. "It's a little uncontrolled at the moment. Ilvermorny has a better program for training these talents than Hogwarts, so…"

"A sensible decision," Graves nodded. "Please, join us. I believe you have another daughter?"

"Yes, Tina," Mrs Goldstein said. She took the seat Graves pulled out for her, and Newt helped Queenie take a seat. "She's with Romulus. My husband. They should be along soon."

"And may I ask how old your daughters are?" Graves asked.

"Tina's just turned ten, and Queenie's approaching eight," Mrs Goldstein told him. "We thought it would be better to send them both to the same school, which is why we're relocating now."

"I'm sure they'll enjoy Ilvermorny," Graves smiled. "I went there myself, and found it most agreeable."

"Well, I'm sure we all enjoyed our school days," Mrs Goldstein said with a slight laugh.

"Mista 'Manda didn't," Queenie piped up. "The other children were mean to him."

Mrs Goldstein's face took on a distinct pinched look. "I'm so sorry, Mr Scamander, she can't really control it," she apologised.

"I understand," Newt sighed. "Can't be helped, I suppose." He leant in a little closer to Queenie. "Yes, you're right. I didn't really get along with the other children a school. I was…different, and they didn't like that. But I got by."

"That's sad, Mista 'Manda," Queenie pouted.

"You can call me Newt," Newt said, trying to distract her.

"Noot?" she tried.

"Newt," Newt corrected. "With a nyuh sound."

"Nyuh-oot," Queenie tried. "Ny-oot. Newt. Is that it, Mista Newt?"

Newt smiled. "Yes, that's it exactly."

Mrs Goldstein smiled with relief. "You're too kind, Mr Scamander."

"She's only young," Newt murmured.

"Excuse me?"

Another middle-aged woman said. She hadn't aged quite as gracefully as Mrs Goldstein, and she carried a toddler while two more young children flanked her. "Would you be Mr Percival Graves?" she asked.

Graves stood. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs…?"

"Mary-Lou Barebone," Mrs Barebone replied, shaking his hand. "This is Modesty, and these are Credence and Chastity."

Graves inclined his head. "May I introduce you to Mr Newt Scamander, Mrs Primadora Goldstein and her daughter Queenie."

Greetings were exchanged, and the Barebones sat down. Mrs Barebone seemed tense, ill-at-ease, and for a moment it looked like Queenie was going to comment on it, but then she bit her lip and looked away.

After a moment, Mrs Goldstein jerked up slightly, and Queenie turned around. Mrs Goldstein beckoned, and a man accompanied by a dark-haired girl came over. "My husband Romulus," Mrs Goldstein explained. "And this is Tina." Once again introductions were made as the new arrivals joined them.

"We're just waiting on the Kowalskis," Graves started, only to be interrupted.

"That would be us." The new arrival was a slightly stout gentleman with a boy on the cusp of puberty at his side. "Joseph, and my son Jacob."

A final round of introductions, and they were all sat down.

"I thank you all for agreeing to meet with me," Graves began. "As you are probably aware, I work for MACUSA. I'm an auror. It's my responsibility to ensure the law, especially the secrecy law, is upheld. I prefer to do this by preventing breaches rather than punishing transgressors. If you're all willing to work with MACUSA on this, we should all do well."

Mr Kowalski cleared his throat. "As I understand it, all non-magical people in America have any knowledge of magic obliviated?"

"There are exceptions, such as the parents of no-maj-born, but in general, yes," Graves confirmed. "Over the years, we've found complete separation to be safer."

Mr Kowalski frowned. "You see, I'm, well, I'm not one of you," he said hesitantly. "My wife was, but…we separated after she had Jacob here disowned. He…didn't make it to Hogwarts."

"Alright," Graves said, frowning. "As your son was born into a magical family, and you are his guardian, you'll probably be required to sign a double-cross contract. You won't be able to tell anyone of magic unless they are either magical or under their own contract. It'll all be explained by a representative of the No-Maj Interactions Office."

"And will I also be required to sign one of these double-cross contracts?" Mrs Barebone asked.

"You as well?" Graves sighed. "Yes. Is your husband around?"

"No. He died of dragon pox," Mrs Barebone said, slightly coldly. "I am taking my children back to my homeland. Is that a problem?"

"No, just…a complication." Graves looked very much as though he wished it was somebody else's complication. "It can be sorted. And your children, are they…?"

Mrs Barebone glanced at her son. "I think probably Credence. I don't know about the girls."

Newt wet his lips and spoke up. "Perhaps if I took the children aside, you could all discuss your own matters?"

"Would you, Mr Scamander?" asked Mrs Barebone. "I'm sure much of what we need to discuss is not for their ears."

"Are you experienced in dealing with children?" Mrs Goldstein asked.

"Um, mostly young animals, but we'll just be over there," Newt mumbled. "Close enough if you're needed."

Graves nodded. "That might be beneficial. I've already spoken to Mr Scamander about what he'll be doing in New York, so he can, ah, babysit for now."

"That would probably be best. Thank you," Mr Goldstein decided.

Newt took Modesty from Mrs Barebone and herded the children to an adjacent table. Jacob pulled out chairs for the Goldstein sisters, and Credence mimicked him for Chastity.

"Well, then," Newt said, pushing down his nerves and putting on false cheer. "We're all going to America. Isn't that exciting?"

The Goldsteins and Jacob nodded enthusiastically, but Credence and Chastity didn't look so sure. Modesty was ignoring them and tracing the grain of the wooden tabletop. "Mama says they don't let magic happen in America," Chastity said.

"Really?" Newt asked. "And what do you think about that?"

"I like magic," Credence said. Chastity hissed something, and Credence pouted. "I don't care if Mama says it's wicked, I like it! It feels right."

Newt frowned. "What do you mean, you mama says magic's wicked?"

"It's not natural," Chastity said primly.

"But your father was magical, wasn't he?" Newt asked.

"Mama didn't know," credence said slowly. "Not 'til I did something unnatural."

"What did you do?" Tina asked curiously.

"Modesty rolled off the table, and I caught her without touching her," Credence explained.

"Huh. I threw sparks at a dog that was scaring Queenie," Tina said matter-of-factly.

Credence blinked; he looked completely at a loss.

Newt sighed. "Magic's a funny thing, Credence," he said. "It appears in nature in the most peculiar ways. And it appears in people too."

"Mama says it's the mark of the Devil," Chastity gasped.

"No," Newt murmured. "We're born with it. It can't be given and it can't taken away. You either have it or don't. And if you have it, you can either learn to harness it or let it go wild."

Queenie nodded emphatically. "Like mind reading," she said. "I can do it, but I can't control it. I gotta learn."

"That is actually a very good example," Newt nodded. "Queenie, in addition to magic, has a very specific talent. She can read minds, but she can't really stop reading minds. If she makes eye contact, she'll see what you're thinking, whether she wants to or not. She needs to be taught to close the eyes of her mind."

Credence nodded slowly. "Could I do that?"

Newt shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. You probably wouldn't ever be able to do it as easily as Queenie. Everyone has their own talent."

"What's your talent?" Jacob asked.

Newt smiled. "I have a…special touch with magical creatures. Here." With a surreptitious glance over his shoulder at Graves, Newt pulled Samson out of his pocket. "This is a kneazle. He's good at detecting suspicious people and finding his way."

"He looks like a cat," Chastity pointed out.

"Yes, they are closely related and can interbreed," Newt said absently. "Uh, that means you can have kittens with one cat parent and one kneazle parent. But see the pattern of flecks? And the overlarge ears and the tufted tail? That's how you can tell them apart from a cat just by looking. They're also very intelligent. This is Samson; I've had him for about four years now."

"Can I…touch him?" Credence asked.

"Here you go," Newt said, passing the creature over. Credence cradled him, and gently stroked his head.

"He's sweet," Credence murmured. "Hello kitty. Good kitty kitty."

Samson let out a mew and settled into Credence's arms.

* * *

The following morning, Newt returned to the case after breakfast and spent a happy hour or two playing with Vladimir. It was cloudy, so he didn't worry overmuch about depriving Pickett of more fresh sunshine, and he'd go out on deck later. In the meantime, the littlest bowtruckle had curled up in Newt's hair, churring softly and occasionally sneezing. Samson was snoozing on the sofa between James and John the puffskeins, and the trio of salamanders had slithered out of the fire for a while and were sharing a platter of peppercorns.

Vladimir bumped into Newt's feet just as Newt prepared to summon more pepper, and Newt's wand flew out of his hand. Vladimir promptly mistook it for his fetching stick.

"No! Vlad, come back with that right now!"

* * *

"Mr Scamander, how good to find you."

Newt looked up as Graves approached. "Mr Graves, nice to see you again." He laid down his dragon book and made room on his bench on-deck for the auror to join him. "Please, sit."

"Thank you," Graves smiled. "Good to see someone in the same line of…knowledge."

"Of course," Newt said, smile starting to fade. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not one to gossip," Graves said carefully, "But I need a sounding board."

"I can be discreet," Newt mumbled.

"Thank you," Graves murmured. His hand twitched, and Newt could just see the tip of his palmed wand flicking as Graves erected a few privacy wards. "I'm not entirely sure where to begin," he started hesitantly.

"General consensus would say the beginning," Newt commented.

Graves smiled wryly. "Are you familiar with the history of magical America?"

"I don't think my history professor is even aware your continent's been discovered," Newt replied.

Graves frowned. "The basics then. After Europeans started migrating to North America, a group called the Scourers sprang up to maintain the Statute of Secrecy. Unfortunately, the reason these particular men chose to enforce the law was not because they were particularly law abiding, but because they wanted to settle their own scores. You are aware of the Salem Witch Trials? Those were in part arranged by some of the Scourers. After that, MACUSA was formed."

"The Magical Congress of the United States of America was created _before_ the United States of America?" Newt asked, confused.

"Well, it was called MACA, the Magical Congress of America, for the first century or so," Graves corrected himself. "My ancestor, Gondolphus Graves, was one of the first aurors. Their first job was hunting down the Scourers. Those who were not caught hid among the no-maj and started families. Their descendants inherited a deeply ingrained belief in magic along with an utter hatred of it."

"Is that why you have a complete separation policy?" Newt asked.

"Yes. Rappaport's Law, it's called," Graves confirmed. "There was a near-miss several decades ago with a Scourer descendant and a particularly air-headed witch that was one of the worst breaches of the Statute in recent years."

"This is fascinating," Newt said. "Perhaps I should get some history books when I arrive in New York."

"It is also relevant," Graves said, slightly reproachful. "You see, one of the Scourer families is called Barebone."

"As in…Mrs Barebone's late husband?" Newt asked.

Graves grimaced. "She's gone back to her maiden name," he informed him. "I asked."

"And she's got at least one magical child," Newt groaned. "Poor Credence. He said she didn't know her husband was a wizard until Credence showed accidental magic."

"I don't think she likes magic," Graves grumbled. "She didn't say anything overt, but that may just have been prudence due to being in the presence of three fully-trained wizards."

"Chastity said her mother says magic is the mark of the devil," Newt moaned. "What do your laws say about magical children in muggle families?"

"It depends on whether or not the parents are willing to accept magic," Graves sighed. "Either obliviation or double-cross contracts."

"Would obliviation be a better idea?" Newt frowned.

"It could be difficult. Definitely a matter for an expert," Graves mumbled. "This is why mixed marriages are forbidden. So much simpler."

"But a little unfair, wouldn't you say?" Newt mused. "Assuming all muggles will behave as their most intolerant do is only assuming the worst of all of them. They can't all be that bad."

"No, it isn't fair," Graves sighed. "But is it not better to think the worst of them, than to allow their worst to make an end of us?"

"I suppose," Newt mumbled.

"And do you think they'd be any kinder to magical creatures?" Graves asked rhetorically. "They already kill untold numbers of all sorts of animals for sport, or for pelts and horns for ornamentation, or just because they can. How much worse would it be for magical animals? They'd kill nifflers to safeguard their treasures. Bowtruckles so they could cut down trees. Dragons out of fear, or for their skin."

"Wizards do all that," Newt pointed out softly. "Our own kind kill far too easily out of fear or greed."

Graves sat back. "You're right," he murmured. "But at least the law is on the creatures' side."

Newt pouted. "It's not enforced nearly often enough."

To his surprise, Graves chuckled. "Careful what you wish for," he warned. "If I was sterner in enforcing MACUSA's creature laws, I'd have to confiscate your case."

"You wouldn't!"

"Of course not. Aside from anything else, I'd just have to turn around and hire you as a temporary consultant to look after them."

* * *

Pickett was off his food. Bowtruckles were carnivores and typically ate woodlice or other insects and insect-like creatures, and Newt was running low on fresh insects. He'd meant to stock up in the apothecary, but the niffler had taken priority.

If Newt stretched out the insect supply with meat cut up small, it should last until they reached New York. But Pickett didn't like the meat, so he wasn't eating it.

The ship had stopped over at Ireland to take on more passengers, and Newt had sent Isaac the owl off to the apothecary in Dublin. It would be a rather tough flight, but Newt should have a jar of fresh woodlice and another of earthworms for Niffy tomorrow.

"Oh come on, Pickett, just a little bit," Newt wheedled. "It's nice fresh ham, and I've cut it down to the size of a woodlouse."

Pickett made a face, let out a growly little chirp and turned his head away.

Newt sighed, and offered it to Bethy instead. The female bowtruckle scuttled down a branch, leant down and plucked the morsel from his fingers. Newt picked up his bowl of chopped ham and placed it in the tree, digging into his dwindling supply of woodlice for the sick little Pickett.

After a few minutes of indulging the youngster, Newt heard a loud chattering from the tree.

"No, Samson! That's not your food!"

* * *

"Ello, Mr Newt!" Queenie called. "Ello, Mr Graves."

"Good evening, little Miss Goldstein," Newt smiled. "Good evening, slightly less little Miss Goldstein."

Queenie giggled and ran over, Tina hot on her heels. "How you do, Mr Newt?"

"I'm doing just fine, Queenie. And how are you and Tina?" Newt replied.

"We saw Ireland today," Tina said. "It looked a lot like France."

"And France looked a lot like England," Queenie added.

"I think most cities look the same from the harbour," Newt commented.

"Jacob took us promenading," Queenie said proudly. "He said I was the cutest little girl he'd ever met."

"But I'm the sharp one," Tina rejoined.

"As a knife," Newt confirmed. "And do you like Jacob?"

"He has such nice thoughts," Queenie sighed wistfully.

"He's not bad," Tina sniffed. "He helped me babysit Credence, Chastity and Modesty for Mrs Barebone."

"Mrs Barebone doesn't like Credence, and she's suspicious of Modesty," Queenie frowned. "She's hopeful of Chastity, because she hasn't shown any magic. She doesn't really like me 'n' Teenie, but she doesn't mind Jacob so much."

"Ah well," Newt said, smiling thinly. "What do you think of Credence and his sisters?"

"They're quiet," Tina murmured. "But I like them."

"I like Jacob more," Queenie confessed.

"Well, don't look now, but here he comes," Newt teased.

Queenie looked around quickly, then looked back, smiling and blushing. Newt smiled himself, careful not to catch Queenie's eye. Little children tended to love so quick and deep. Perhaps it would last; perhaps not. But it was sweet while it lasted.

* * *

Newt had been waiting on deck all morning – so long that he'd finished his collection of dragon treatsies and moved on to a travel guide for the plains and mountains of America. This one was a muggle work, and so didn't need a glamour. Pickett was being slightly more brazen than usual, lounging on Newt's shoulder and occasionally sneezing. He'd started to produce a viscous mucus. Newt had decided to collect it on the off chance it had some interesting properties. Meanwhile, he had some Pepper-Up potion maturing.

Fertility potions diluted with the sap of a bowtruckle's home tree were effective for the bowtruckle, so perhaps that would also work with Pepper-Up potion.

"Fancy finding you here, Mr Scamander."

Newt looked up. "You're the one unjustly haunting the Second Class promenade, Mr Graves. Aren't there more entertaining venues available to you?"

"Not such entertaining company." Graves didn't wait for Newt's invitation before sitting. Newt just marked his page and closed his book.

"More difficulties?" he asked.

"Not really," Graves replied. "Although that bowtruckle might be one, if he attracts the wrong attention."

"That's a stick insect," Newt said flatly. Pickett shifted and sneezed. "With insectiod pneumonia."

Graves raised an eyebrow. "Does that work?"

Newt shrugged his un-burdened shoulder. "If it doesn't, Theseus drilled me in memory charms."

Graves nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Any other spells he ensured you mastered?"

"A small number of combat spells, disillusionment and repair charms," Newt reeled off. "He thought it best I know how to defend myself and clean up after myself and any creatures I encounter. I also know a nice befuddlement hex that makes anyone in range extremely susceptible to, shall we say, slightly implausible explanations for a few minutes. Long enough to make excuses and escape. And I have knowledge of the Patronus charm; I'm no good at it, though."

"Your brother is certainly thorough," Graves said approvingly.

"He says that the most annoying callouts are to newly of-age wizards who did something stupid and can't fix it," Newt commented.

Graves groaned. "I know just what he means. Someone decides to change the colour of a notable landmark, and then they can't change it back and half a dozen no-maj have seen it, and you have to send out a reversal specialist and a team of Obliviators. We actually have a ward around the Statue of Liberty because it's been hexed so many times. I believe the final straw was when one overly-clever prankster made Lady Liberty appear to be nude."

Newt winced. "There was a particularly nasty incident a few decades ago when someone jinxed the House of Lords so that the next formal opening of parliament was interrupted when the throne threw the Queen, and then fired ink at everyone in the room. That's still being used as a cautionary tale against being drunk in charge of a wand."

"And then there's the ones who deliberately target no-maj," Graves lamented. "We try to stamp it out, but there's always one or two who need incarceration before they get the message."

Newt snorted. "You've got it easy, really. Our Wizengamot has far too many blood purists. General policy seems to be ʻno harm, no foulʼ, with a ministerial callout being punished by no more than a slap on the wrist and a small fine."

"Does that prevent reoffending?"

"According to Theseus, not until after Daddy cuts them off," Newt said grimly. "One of the worst was when someone released a hippogriff in an army barracks. They shot it before anyone at the ministry even knew about it. Theseus was assigned to the case, but he never tracked down the culprit."

"That must be particularly distressing," Graves said sympathetically. "I understand your mother breeds hippogriffs?"

"Yes, she does; and it was," Newt sighed. "Theseus spent a lot of time helping me in the stables around then. Thank you for remembering that, Mr Graves."

"You can call me Percival," Mr Scamander."

"Then you must call me Newt."

"A pleasure, Newt," Percival smiled. "And would you do me the favour of joining me for lunch?"

"I would be delighted."

* * *

"That was rather foolhardy," Percival growled, wrestling with the rope ladder. "Honestly. Having a post owl carrying a large parcel rendezvousing with a no-maj liner…"

"I did take the precaution of asking the apothecary to disillusion the package," Newt defended himself. "And I really need the delivery."

"What is it that's so important?" Percival growled.

Newt shot him a dirty look, and unwrapped the jars of woodlice and earthworms. "Food. I didn't have time to stock up, what with the new arrival."

"Who are the worms for?" Percival frowned.

"Niffy," Newt answered. "He'll eat the meat I put out for Vladimir and Samson, but he's better off with worms. It might just stop him from getting…frisky. Anyway, I need to get sap from the tree." He scooped some of the woodlice onto a plate, grabbed an empty vial, an awl and a jar of salve, and headed into the garden. Percival followed.

Newt held out the plate to his bowtruckles. "Come on out," he coaxed. "Nice fresh woodlice. Come and have a snack." The little twig-like creatures hopped down from the branch and gathered about the plate of insects. When they were all munching happily, Newt showed them the awl. "I'm afraid I need a little sap," he explained. The bowtruckles froze, then started a suspicious chattering. "Now, now, don't be like that," Newt exclaimed. "You know me. I'll be careful. Just a little hole, a little sap, and then I'll patch up the tree. You know me, I'll make sure it's all good."

One of the bowtruckles hopped suspiciously onto Newt's arm and watched closely. It was Billy. He watched carefully as Newt worked the awl into the wood of the tree and carefully filled the vial with the viscous sap. Then he capped it and rubbed the salve in instead. It filled the hole and hardened. Billy nodded in satisfaction and hopped back onto the plate of woodlice.

Newt turned back to Percival. "There've been experiments on making certain potions effective for creatures. One was on fertility potions for bowtruckles – the idea was that if the bowtruckle population increased, they'd have to inhabit every wand quality tree in the forest and therefore make for easier identification. I'm hoping the same method will work on some Pepper-up I've been brewing for Pickett."

"What is the method?" Percival asked. At Newt's direction, he turned to the cauldron and started filling a series of flasks.

"When the potion is cooled, sap from the bowtruckle's home tree is added, one drop per standard flask. The potion must then be taken within an hour, or it will spoil," Newt recited. "The original researcher dipped woodlice in the potion, but I think I can get Pickett to drink it."

Percival nodded. He held up on of the flasks, and Newt took it. With an eye dropper, he added a single drop, before shaking it thoroughly. "I take it the magical potential of the tree can be found in the sap?" the auror asked. "Or at least the most potent aspect?"

"That was the reasoning, yes," Newt nodded. "Bowtruckles have a very strong bond to their home tree, you see, so theoretically adding the sap to the potion harmonizes the magic of the potion and the magic of the bowtruckle." He finished shaking the potion, and poured a little into an eggcup.

Pickett sniffed at the offered potion. He bent his head and lapped at it, only to turn away and spit it out. Newt tried to encourage him, but the baby bowtruckle refused. Eventually, Pickett slashed his long, sharp fingers at Newt's hand.

"Ow!" the magizoologist yelled. "Pickett! I'm only trying to help you."

Percival reached over and took Newt's bleeding hand. "It's not too bad," he said. "Hardly even worth using magic to heal."

"I know, but Pickett attacked me!" Newt cried. "He's never done that!"

There was a distinct chirp from the bench, and Newt and Percival looked over. Pickett had his bloody fingers held over a second flask of potion. It had a swirling pattern around a drop of deep red. Percival reached for it.

"He needs the sap, the blood, of his home tree," he reasoned. "Perhaps he thinks you're his tree?"

"That's ridiculous," Newt frowned. "I'm not a tree."

Percival raised an eyebrow, and offered Pickett the potion. The bowtruckle eagerly lapped up the potion, sitting back as steam rose from around his leaves. "I think he thinks you're close enough," Percival remarked.

"I'm not a tree," Newt repeated, bewildered.

* * *

"Good evening, Mr Newt," the Barebone children chorused.

"Good evening, Credence, Chastity, Modesty," Newt smiled. "How are you today?"

"Mama let us go out on deck with Miss Tina and Miss Queenie and Master Jacob," Chastity told him.

"The sea breeze was very bracing," Credence commented. "Master Jacob and Miss Queenie seem very fond of each other."

"This happens," Newt nodded. "I'm sure they like you as well."

"Mama said they're very young for it," Chastity remarked.

"Well, maybe, but it's just smiles and blushes," Newt answered, blushing himself. "It's nothing else just yet. Maybe in ten years or so."

Chastity nodded thoughtfully. "Mama says that wedlock is the natural state for mankind and a woman should try to arrange for a husband before she is twenty-five. That's partly why she married Papa."

"In our world, we tend to take things a little slower," Newt said carefully. "It's considered quite normal to meet your future spouse while still in school, but generally courtship is expected to last for several years after reaching your majority and leaving school. Also, there isn't the same gender divide; it's not uncommon for the wife to be the breadwinner and the husband the homemaker. Women have the same magical potential as men, and in just under half the cases I am aware of the wife is more powerful than her husband. That's the case in my own family, in fact."

"Witches do not stay home?" Chastity asked, looking confused.

"Not if they don't want to," Newt shrugged. "My mother did, but she breeds hippogriffs and animal care is relatively easy to fit around childcare. My father was a low-ranking officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he decided to transfer to Magical Games and Sports after my older brother Theseus decided to become and auror."

"What's an auror?" Credence asked.

"Aurors are like muggle policemen," Newt explained. "They prevent crime and catch criminals."

"I'd like to be an auror." Tina Goldstein popped up unexpectedly. "Sorry to interrupt, but…I want to be an auror. It's a very important job. It's about protecting people from those evil or careless enough to endanger them."

"You really ought to talk to Mr Graves, then," Newt said. "He's an auror. He'll know more about the requirements MACUSA have."

Tina nodded decisively. "I think I will. Excuse me." She slipped away and marched over to where Percival and Mrs Barebone had been joined by her parents.

"I don't know what I want to do," Queenie said. "But Mama says I have plenty of time."

"Quite right," Newt agreed. "You've got at least until you're fourteen before you have to decide."

"I don't even know what jobs wizards do," Credence said mournfully.

"I'm sure you'll find your niche," Newt said soothingly. "I expect you'll find out all about your opportunities at Ilvermorny school."

"What is Ilvermorny like?" Credence asked.

"I don't know," Newt shrugged. "I went to Hogwarts, the British school. Mr Graves went to Ilvermorny, though."

Modesty looked up from where she'd been playing with a stuffed rabbit. "Funny names," she said, and giggled.

"I suppose." Newt hunkered down in front of Modesty. "Does your rabbit have a name?"

"He's called Virtue," Modesty said bashfully.

"He's lovely," Newt smiled. "Do you have any other toys?"

Modesty buried her face in the rabbit's ears. "I have a Bible picture book," she mumbled. "Mama gave it to me for my third birthday."

"Your third birthday?" Newt asked. "You're really growing up."

"Not as quickly as Credence and Chastity," Modesty murmured.

"Oh?" Newt asked. "How old are they?"

"Six, and five," Modesty replied. "And you?"

"I'm seventeen," Newt told her. "I don't grow up any more. I just grow old."

Modesty giggled. "You're funny."

Newt smiled. "I try."

Queenie sat down next to Modesty. "I'm eight. And my sister Tina is ten."

"You're really grown up," Modesty whispered.

"So will you in a few years," Queenie laughed.

Chastity and Credence joined them on the floor. "How old is Master Jacob?" Chastity asked.

"I'm not sure," Newt frowned. "Oh, there he is."

The Kowalskis entered the room and split up. Jacob headed towards them. "Good evening, Mr Newt, Queenie, Credence, Chastity, Modesty. What are we talking about?"

"What do you hope to do when you grow up?" Newt asked as Jacob sat.

"My father was a baker before he married my mother," Jacob shrugged. "He's planning to open a new bakery in New York. I'll probably take it over. He's taught me all the recipes my grandmother taught him."

"How old are you?" Modesty demanded.

"Twelve," Jacob answered, slightly defensively.

"What happened to your mother?" Chastity asked pensively.

Jacob hunched in on himself. "Uh, she didn't mind marrying a muggle, but having a muggle son was a bit too much. Her family were putting pressure on her, so…she had the marriage annulled and sent Father and I away."

Newt patted Jacob reassuringly. "At least you still have your father."

"I know," Jacob sighed. "But that doesn't always help."

Modesty climbed onto Jacob's lap. "I miss Papa." She frowned, then brightened. "Maybe your Papa will get on with my Mama, and then your Papa can be my Papa, and my Mama can be your Mama."

Newt blinked. "I'd give it a little longer before you start matchmaking…"

* * *

Newt lay on his sofa, stroking Samson while James and John rested on either side of his neck. With three purring creatures in close proximity, Newt was nearly deafened with pleased rumbling. Pickett was feeling much better, and while he'd need to give him more sunlight that afternoon, he'd be alright for now. It was nice to spend a peaceful morning surrounded by his creatures. Vladimir had hopped onto Newt's feet and various bowtruckles were playing tag through the tree. The salamanders…were most likely doing whatever it was they did in their fire.

Newt shifted slightly, and James let out a disgruntled sort of squeal. Newt paused in stroking Samson to give his aggrieved puffskein a reassuring pat. "Calm down, boy. It's just a little squirming." He wriggled a little, just to prove a point, and Vladimir looked up and whined.

Newt sighed. He reached for his wand and summoned his stock of meaty tidbits. As the dish whisked its way towards him, he noticed Niffy's nest.

It was empty.

* * *

"What do you mean, the niffler's got loose?!" Percival hissed.

"I mean he's not in the case anywhere," Newt whispered back. "He must have slipped out after breakfast."

"But where is he?" Percival demanded.

"He'll be on the ship somewhere," Newt said. "He's not fond of salt water, so he's hardly going to go swimming. He'll probably be searching for shiny things, like jewellery."

"So he'll probably be among the First Class passengers, probably the ladies," Percival sighed. "I don't suppose you've tagged him with a tracker?"

"Of course not!" Newt hissed. "That would be- I mean- that's what the thieves I rescued him from did!"

"Give him a tracked coin or something," Percival suggested. "He can keep it in his pouch and then you can find him."

"Unless he stashes it in his den," Newt frowned.

"Can't you just tell him to keep it on him?"

"Possibly," Newt considered. "But we need to find him first."

"Let's start on the promenade," Percival suggested. "There's bound to be plenty of young rich ladies there trying to attract the eye of the rich gentlemen aboard."

"If he's on the promenade, he might end up taking an unplanned swim," Newt shuddered.

"Or else get spotted and leave us to Obliviate half the ship," Percival grouched.

* * *

Newt curled in on himself slightly. Percival had been scowling at him for at least four hours now, and was refusing to let either Newt or his suitcase out of his sight. It probably had something to do with the fourteen memory charms and nearly two dozen befuddlement hexes they'd had to perform to cover up the niffler's rampage. Or possibly the way Newt had accidentally thrown himself of the Engineers' promenade catching the niffler – an action which had led to the majority of the obliviations after Percival summoned Newt by the collar of his shirt. But putting the suitcase under scrutiny was a bit much. They'd decided (Percival ruled) that it was safer to keep Niffy in Newt's pocket for now, because Newt would know if his pocket emptied itself.

Percival intended to check over the locking charms on the case and help Newt reinforce them, and even now he was etching a tracking rune onto a sickle to help keep Niffy under control. Newt had tried to protest that such kindness was unnecessary, but Percival pointed out that preventing breaches of the Statute of Secrecy _was_ necessary.

Newt squirmed under Percival's stare. It was always uncomfortable to be under such intense scrutiny from a law man.

"Mr Newt! Mr Percival!"

Newt smiled, perking up. "Good evening, Queenie, Tina, Jacob. How are you?"

"Starting to get a little bored, I'm afraid," Jacob sighed. "The novelty's worn off and there's so little privacy."

"It's not so bad, and it's not for much longer," Newt cajoled. "Tell you what. Tomorrow morning, why don't I show you around the Second Class facilities?"

"Tomorrow, Mr Scamander, is the Lord's Day," came Mrs Barebone's whip-sharp voice. "I do hope you weren't planning on neglecting the service?"

Percival coughed. "I'm sure it just slipped his mind," he interceded. "But as it is Sunday, may I invite you all to take lunch in the First Class dining saloon? I believe I can arrange it easily enough."

Mrs Barebone blinked, and smiled. "How gracious of you. Mr Kowalski, will you be attending the Catholic service or the Anglican?"

Jacob's father raised an eyebrow. "Neither. We're Jews."

Mrs Barebone blanched. "A Christ-killer?!"

Mr Kowalski stiffened. "Your Christ was himself a Jew, was he not?"

"And His own people turned on Him!" Mrs Barebone hissed.

"I have looked into this," Mr Kowalski growled. "It was the Romans who put him to death."

"At the instigation of the Jews!"

Jacob sighed. "This might take some time. Father has always taken the accusations of Christ-killing rather ill."

"Mama doesn't like Jews," Chastity said doubtfully.

"Ah well. Let's let them discuss these things," Percival shrugged.

"Do wizards not worship and serve the Lord?" Chastity asked.

"The Pope formally excommunicated all practisers of the magical arts eight hundred years ago," Percival shrugged. "I don't think the order has ever been rescinded."

"But that has no bearing on the Protestant church," Credence said.

Percival, Newt and the Goldsteins exchanged glances. "Weren't those the ones responsible for the Salem Witch Trials?" asked Mr Goldstein.

Percival grunted. "Partly. It was exacerbated by some wizards settling personal grudges." Credence and Chastity frowned at him. "My ancestor was one of the Original Twelve aurors in America, whose first duty was hunting down these wizards. The Scourers, they were known as."

Queenie settled down on the floor next to Modesty. "What did Mr Newt and Mr Percival do today?"

Newt withered under Percival's renewed glare. "My niffler got loose. We caught him."

"What's a niffler?" Modesty asked.

Newt sat down next to her and reached into his coat. "This is a niffler."

"Sweet!" Queenie cooed. "It's adorable."

"Newt, keep that under control!" Percival hissed. "Don't let him get away again!"

"I'm holding him, don't worry," Newt said. The other children joined them in a circle around the animal. "He retrieves shiny things like metals and jewels," Newt explained. "I liberated him from a gang of bank robbers, and it seems he's an incorrigible thief."

"What do you mean, liberated?" Chastity asked, cocking her head curiously.

"He stole him," Percival clarified. "As I understand it, the beast ownership laws in Britain are ambiguous enough that he should be able to get away with it."

"Why does its nose look like a duck?" Modesty asked.

Newt looked at the niffler, who looked back. He'd never considered it before. "Maybe it makes it easier for it to smell shininess?"

"How do you smell shininess?" Credence asked.

Newt shrugged. "Magic."

"That's not much of an answer," Tina protested.

"Well how does anything work?" Newt responded.

"Something to do with arithmancy?" Tina suggested.

"I didn't do arithmancy," Newt retorted.

"Well what did you do?" Queenie asked.

"Divination." Newt pulled a face. "Complete waste of time. Would you believe my professor predicted that in 1942, the ruler of France will be a German painter?"

"That sounds rather unlikely," Jacob frowned.

"Mm," Percival mused. "Unless the Kaiser's heir paints?"

"The Germans would never conquer France," Mr Goldstein retorted. "The Germans wouldn't risk taking on the Entente Cordiale."

"The French might start it," Percival commented.

"And where would the United States stand?" asked Mr Goldstein.

"I believe our no-maj government would stay out unless one side or the other started acting aggressively towards us," Percival mused. "But the ICW has ruled that no wizard is to use magic to aid no-maj military forces. If this ruling is broken and a task force is formed to counter aggressive magical forces and prevent widespread exposure, I personally would consider joining."

"Hm. Theseus has been considering it, too," Newt remarked. "My brother," he clarified at Mr and Mrs Goldstein's confused looks. "He's an auror at the Ministry."

"Mr Newt!" Queenie drew Newt's attention back to the children and the niffler. "It's so soft and fluffy! What's his name?"

"Er, Niffy," Newt answered. "Sorry, it was the first thing I could think of."

"Can I hold Niffy?" Queenie asked.

"As long as you keep a good hold," Newt said, passing over the creature.

Queenie took him and gave him a tight hug. "So lovely!"

"Lovely, perhaps, but a right menace," Percival muttered.

* * *

Niffy was hugging his sickle. Newt's instruction to keep it on him at all times had been well-received and Niffy hadn't even made more than a token protest at the magic charging the tracking rune. It could be because Newt had charged the rune himself, and Niffy was familiar with Newt's magic.

The little furry creature hadn't let go of the sickle ever since Newt gave it to him. The lure of the beautifully polished silver was apparently far too much. Hopefully, it would remain so.

Pickett meanwhile had stopped sneezing. The Newt's-blood laced Pepper-Up potion had done the trick and stopped the cold. The little bowtruckle was still pale and running a low temperature, so he'd probably benefit from a few more days in Newt's pocket. But seeing as Pickett had responded to potion made with Newt's blood rather than tree sap, it could be that the bowtruckle had formed a magical bond Newt and not his home tree. While bowtruckles were known to change home tree, there had never been any indication they might choose a human as their ʻtreeʼ.

The other creatures all seemed to be normal. The puffskeins were chasing each other around the fire pit while the salamanders looked on, and Vladimir and Samson were growling at each other. Meanwhile the other bowtruckles were munching through a dish of fresh woodlice.

Most of the passengers were at one or other of the Sunday services. The Wizarding world had been split from the Church for such a long time; Newt had no inclination to have anything to do with the ministers and priests. So best stay out of the way for a little longer. Newt lay back on his sofa, cuddling Niffy. James ran over his feet, shortly followed by John.

He did like being able to spend time just relaxing, surrounded by his creatures.

* * *

Newt stashed his suitcase under his chair in the First Class dining saloon. Percival eyeballed it. "What's that doing here?"

"I almost always bring it with me," Newt shrugged.

"I've only noticed it a few times before," Percival frowned.

"It's got a notice-me-not on it," Newt rolled his eyes. "It lets me keep an eye on it without other people doing so."

"I want to keep an eye on it," Percival frowned.

"Well you've noticed it now, so you'll probably keep noticing it," Newt shrugged. "I think Niffy likes you."

Percival raised an eyebrow. "Enough to stop trying to steal my watch, cufflinks and collar pins?"

"Er…" Newt shifted uneasily. "Not exactly. More like…enough to focus his attentions on you specifically."

"So…he'll try extra hard to steal my watch, cufflinks and collar pins," Percival stated. "What an enchanting creature."

"He certainly is fantastic," Newt smiled.

"…of course," Percival replied. "How are the salamanders?"

"They're doing well," Newt chirped. "Neptune was looking a little peaky, so I fed him some extra pepper and he perked up again."

"And the puffskeins?" Percival asked.

"They've been playing tag all morning."

"Vladimir?" Percival gave the distinct impression of someone working through a list.

"Tried to eat a shoe, but crups can eat pretty much anything, so it's probably a good sign," Newt shrugged. "He hasn't tried eating the tree yet, though, which is good."

"The bowtruckles?" Percival continued.

"Jealous of Pickett."

"Pickett?"

"Needs more sun, but no more sneezing."

"And Samson?"

"Mmrow?" The kneazle stuck his head out of Newt's coat.

"He's doing well." Newt scratched his pet, then shooed him back into the pocket. "You know, I used to have a jarvey. He was called Jervis."

"What happened to him?" Percival asked.

"He got put down by the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures," Newt sighed. "There was an incident where he bit a pureblood heir. And you know our Ministry."

Percival reached out and squeezed Newt's hand. "My condolences."

Newt squeezed back and smiled wanly. "It was a few years ago. I miss him, but I've got Vladimir and Niffy since. And when I was at home I had the hippogriffs."

"At least you didn't bring those with you," Percival sighed.

"Hmm. Wouldn't be fair to separate them from the herd, and Mother would never let me take them all." Newt tapped the table pensively.

Percival checked his watch. "I must go collect the others. I'm having to pass them off as Second Class, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"You can always hit them with a quick charm if necessary," Newt mused.

"That might possibly be a breach of the Statute; at least on somewhat dodgy ground," Percival deferred.

"I meant charm the Goldsteins, Kowalskis and Bareboneses," Newt sighed. "To make them look more…fancy."

"More legal, but still dodgy," Percival decided. "I will try to avoid it. Hold the table."

"Of course, Percival."

* * *

As Percival departed, Samson poked his head out and mewed again. Newt shushed him, and stroked him tenderly, waiting for their guests.

Newt got back to his cabin late. After lunch, there was promenading, afternoon tea, and dinner. Then the Irish emigrants in Steerage had thrown a dance party, which the Goldstein girls had been keen for them all to attend. Percival had found himself using disguise charms several times to help everyone blend in between decks. But it had been pleasant; Newt enjoyed the slightly novel experience of being in friendly human company not directly related to him.

Regardless, he was now a little late for the evening feed. He descended into his case, pulled Samson from his inside pocket and tapped a rune to put out the ʻsunʼ and turn on the ʻmoonʼ. Then it was out with the stored meat and insects, and two fresh logs for the salamanders' fire.

* * *

Percival had borrowed a book from the ship's lending library. It wasn't terribly exciting, but Percival seldom went to bed before midnight, and without exhausting himself with work it was even harder to sleep. He'd been sleeping in, true enough, but nodding off was tough.

But the cabin was comfortable, and the book was keeping him occupied until his eyelids started to droop.

He would work on the paperwork he'd drawn up for Newt and the others, but he'd finished it two nights ago. Seraphina would be somewhat bemused that he'd chosen to do a little work on his vacation, but she wouldn't be surprised. After all, she knew him well enough to know that the only way to get him to actually take a vacation was to fit it into his schedule. Hence the luxury liner, as opposed to an international portkey.

Still, it was a very thoughtful birthday present.

There was a slight jolt, and the book fell from Percival's loose fingers. He frowned, and picked it up. The rumbling hum of the engines was slightly different, but he couldn't tell what it meant. Perhaps there'd been a mechanical problem. One of the other passengers had talked about the sister-ship throwing a propeller blade, and that ship was soon completely fixed. If there was a problem, the steward would come and tell him. Percival returned to his book.

There was a knock on the door. Some time had passed without Percival noting it, and it was now gone midnight. He put down the book and answered the door.

It was one of the stewards. "I apologise for disturbing you, sir. The captain requires all passengers on deck with life belts. You'll also want to dress in warm clothing. Do you need assistance?"

"No, I shall be fine," Percival declined. "Any particular deck I should report to?"

"The Boat Deck," the steward answered. "Your life belt is just here." He pulled the bundle of stiffened cloth stuffed with cork off the wardrobe. "It goes over the head, and ties around you."

"I understand. Thank you," Percival nodded, taking the life belt. "Is there a problem with the ship?"

The steward smiled, slightly thinly. "Oh no, just a precaution," he said, but Percival sensed something more. "There's no real danger. We're just being careful," The steward concluded.

"Well, then, I shall be sure to report to the Boat Deck as soon as possible," Percival nodded. "Thank you for your assistance."

The steward nodded, and backed out of Percival's room. Percival waited for the barest moment, listening to the footsteps fade into the background rumble. Then he whipped out his wand and flicked it with a quick dressing charm. His rumpled shirt straightened and was fastened with cufflinks and collar pins, his tie sliding into place. His vest neatened itself and his jacket flew over. Percival slid his arms through the sleeves and lifted each foot in turn so his shoes could slip on. His scarf and coat approached, and his laces tied themselves. Percival tweaked a few last details, then grabbed the life belt.

It wasn't exactly comfortable; the belt was bulky, holding large chunks of cork and pressing them to Percival's body. It restricted his arm movement and forced his pocket watch to dig into his stomach. But it was designed to keep a man afloat in the sea, and comfort was secondary to necessity.

Percival glanced around. The only possessions he'd be leaving behind were a few clothes, a spare suit, some nightclothes. Nothing he couldn't replace easier than take with him, if the worst came to the worst. His wand was secure in its holster, and that was the most important item.

There weren't that many passengers on deck when Percival got there. More were streaming up, but slowly. There were pieces of ice lying around, and a few young men had started to kick them around. One of the officers was directing some crewmen in uncovering a boat.

Percival turned to ask Newt about what creatures they may see in the ocean, and was reminded by his action that they'd parted company some hours earlier. But Newt was bound to be up soon.

Assuming he heard the steward knocking and hadn't fallen asleep on the sofa in his case.

Percival sighed, smiling to himself, and started heading towards Newt's cabin. The ship seemed to be listing somewhat; perhaps the wakeup call was a bit more than a simple precaution. But still, better safe than sorry.

The corridor in the second class area Newt stayed in was starting to fill up. There were a few stewards and several passengers, all in life belts. Percival weaved through the growing crowd and rapped on Newt's door. There was no answer, so after a moment Percival entered.

It was dark, the lights out. Percival turned on the electric lamp and noted the life belts in a corner and the closed suitcase on the floor. He knelt by the case and rapped on it.

After a moment, the lid opened and Newt's head stuck out, one hand on the side of the case and the other still clinging to his rope ladder. "Percival? Why are you here? What are you wearing?"

"Newt, you have to get dressed," Percival said quickly. "Jacket, coat, scarf if you have it, something warm. I'll explain in a minute."

Newt frowned, but dropped back into his workshop without asking further questions. Percival looked down, watching his young friend bustle about, retrieving his blue coat and a yellow and charcoal striped scarf. Pickett the bowtruckle slipped from Newt's collar to his breast pocket and the kneazle, Samson, leapt for the inside of the coat. Percival sighed to himself, but decided not to press the matter.

He stepped back as Newt clambered up. "What's going on? What's the noise?"

Percival grabbed one of the life belts. "The passengers are being mustered on the Boat Deck. We're to wear warm clothing and life belts."

Newt took the belt and let Percival help him into it. Then he picked up his case.

"No luggage," Percival hissed.

Newt took on a stubborn look. "Whatever's happening, I'm not leaving my creatures behind."

Percival tried to stare him down, but there was a tinge of desperation beneath the obstinacy. He tried to imagine the animals below being left to face their fate alone, and quickly understood Newt's single-minded drive. He flicked out his wand, and hit the case with a powerful notice-me-not. "Keep it out of the way," he sighed. "And come on."

Percival wrapped his hand around Newt's upper arm to lead him back through the crowded corridors and on deck. The passengers were massing in confused, grumpy huddles and several crewmen working on preparing a boat. The two wizards found themselves a corner to watch the activity.

There was a rumble, and then a deafening boom started. Percival winced and covered his ears. Newt tried to copy him, but fumbled his case. Angling away from the other people around them, Percival palmed his wand and twitched it in a silent spell.

There was a sort of pop, and the boom abruptly stopped. Newt smiled gratefully. "Thanks," he murmured. "Did you Silence the source or…?"

"Privacy bubble," Percival whispered back. "If we move away, we'll get to hear that racket again."

"I'm all for staying put, thanks," Newt smiled, nervous. "What's going on?"

"I'm really not sure," Percival frowned. "If the ship's in danger, wouldn't they be more organised? And if it's a drill, what's with the list and the noise?"

"I don't know much about sea travel," Newt admitted. "Do you?"

"I remember hearing about one incident some years ago," Percival mused. "Two ships called Florida and Republic collided. They used a no-maj messaging technology to summon other ships and ferried everyone from ship to ship using the boats. Only casualties were those who died in the collision."

"So if they're preparing the boats, we're probably going to transfer to another ship?" Newt frowned.

Percival raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you heard about this ship? She's the supposed to be the safest ever built."

Newt kept frowning. "I thought she was the largest ever built."

"That too." Percival shrugged. "The ship is will stay afloat long enough for another ship to reach us. Then we move over. Easy. Just avoid alerting anyone to the fact you've got your case with you."

Newt leaned around Percival slightly to watch the activity on the deck. One of the officers was encouraging several passengers to climb into a boat. One man was helping a pregnant woman in before following her. The noise must have been continuing, because several crewmen were gesturing to each other, probably hand signals. Eventually, the officer in charge stopped communicating with the passengers and started directing the crew to lower the boat.

"They wouldn't start sending people away unless they had to, would they?" Newt asked dubiously.

"I wouldn't have thought they would," Percival mused. "Could be they're just trying to speed things up when help arrives."

"With a half full boat?" Newt shrugged. "Should we go and check on the others?"

Percival considered. If it was just a precaution, they'd lose nothing by checking on their magical associates. If it was more serious, they had a duty to their fellows. "We might as well. Get them out on deck at least." He slipped out and waved his wand, dismissing the privacy bubble.

The boom of the engines instantly assaulted their eardrums once more, both men wincing. Percival jerked his head and hooked his fingers into Newt's sleeve, leading him away and back into the ship.

The grand staircase was packed with passengers going both ways, out onto the deck and back into the warm. Percival wound his way through the crowd, tugging Newt behind him.

"We should try to find emptier passageways," Newt muttered. "We'd get through easier. I think there's stairs down to Steerage in some of the Second Class areas."

Percival nodded, and changed direction. Second Class wasn't really any clearer, so he tried the crew area. Through several unmarked passages and stairways, some crowded with passengers and some deserted, they eventually found themselves in the Third Class dining room.

A number of passengers were gathered in small groups, talking in a variety of languages. A steward was flitting between them, talking in loud, clear English: "Get dressed; get your life belts on; get on deck."

Percival paused for a minute, carefully examining each group in search of the magical families. Next to him, Newt shifted uneasily, and started muttering to himself.

"Are you alright, Newt?" he asked softly. The roaring engines had dropped off, and the ringing it left had faded.

"It's just…if there is a problem…we could fix it, right?" Newt asked. "I mean, with…our way."

Percival sighed. This was another advantage of keeping segregated from no-maj. "Is it possible? Yes. But not without revelation."

"What?" Newt asked, baffled.

Percival pulled him further away from the passengers. "The Statute of Secrecy. We can't risk it."

"I don't…we can't…" Newt stuttered, looking confused and distressed.

"Think about it," Percival hissed. "Yes, we probably could levitate the ship out of the water, maybe for several hours if we swap it between us and the Goldsteins. But there's no way we could keep it secret. If it's possible to fix whatever happened without anyone noticing, I don't know how. I'm a lawman, not a shipping engineer. And if we reveal ourselves, we're painting a target on every witch, wizard and magical child in the world. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, will be at risk. This ship has maybe two and a half thousand aboard, and we still don't know what kind of danger the ship may or may not be facing. I know it's hard, and I myself will never be at peace over this if there are casualties, but we have to look to our own."

Newt sniffed, and hugged his case to his chest. "We're not going to do anything?"

"We can save a few," Percival reassured him. "We'll get the children out – there shouldn't be any difficulty getting them on a boat. We'll try and get their parents out. We'll try and get ourselves out. And you've got your creatures. These are our own, and we'll do all we can by them."

Newt nodded. "You promise…if the worst happens…you'll make sure my case gets to safety? And you'll make sure my beasts are taken care of?"

"I promise I'll do everything in my power to assure it," Percival said softly. "Niffy's got his tracking sickle in there, hasn't he? So I won't have any difficulty finding it if it floats off. But we don't know it's going to come to that. We could be worrying over nothing, right?"

Newt smiled weakly. "Right. Worrying over nothing."

Percival patted Newt's shoulder. "Shall we find the others?"

Newt composed himself again. "Yes, I think we- no!"

Newt suddenly tugged at the front of his life belt. A furry head popped up, and the kneazle wiggled free, dropping to the floor.

"Newt!" Percival growled. "Why can't you keep them under control?"

As though to prove his point, Pickett peeked out from beneath the life belt's shoulder strap and chirped.

"Samson!" Newt moaned. The cat-like animal had taken off, and Newt waited only long enough to free his sleeve from Percival's grasp before haring off. Percival cursed under his breath and followed.

He ended up in the kitchen, with Newt kneeling next to one of the cookers making coaxing noises. There was no one else in sight, so Percival readied his wand to Summon the recalcitrant creature.

"No, don't," Newt said quickly as Percival crouched next to him, pushing his wand away. "There's something else." He turned back to the kneazle half-under the stove. "C'mon, Samson, show me what you've found," he cooed.

Samson slung out again, followed by a tabby cat carrying a tiny kitten in her mouth. She deposited the baby in front of Newt and darted back under the stove.

"Oh," Newt gasped. "Percival, she's got kittens. We can't leave them."

Samson curled around the kitten protectively for a moment, then darted under the stove again. Newt picked up and cradled the kitten.

"We can't save everyone, Newt," Percival reminded him.

"But we can see to our own, you said so!" Newt insisted. "I'm making these my own. I'll put them down in my case. Samson will look after them."

The cat and the kneazle reappeared, Samson tugging an old blanket with three more kittens in it. The mother cat was carefully nudging the kittens whenever they came near the edge of the nest. Newt deposited the first kitten back down with the litter.

"Alright," Percival sighed. "Put them in your case. The kittens, the cat, Samson, and Pickett as well. All of them. Put them away safe."

Newt flashed a quick grin, and opened his case. He swished and flicked his wand, and the nest floated up and then down into the case. After a moment, the mother hopped after them, followed by Samson.

"And Pickett," Percival reminded him, glancing down to see the kittens' nest sitting on the workbench with the mother cat.

Newt nodded and tried to pull his living-stick friend off his coat. "No, Pickett, you have to go back," he muttered. "It'll be safer for you. You can come back soon enough, you just have to go back in for now. You can make sure the new kitties are safe, right? Make sure Vladimir doesn't bother them, yes?"

Eventually, the bowtruckle whined, and let Newt lower him to the rope ladder and close the case.

"Happy now?" Newt grumbled.

"Not quite," Percival said. He pointed his wand and hit the case with a quick series of spells: sealing, waterproofing and buoyancy. Another quick spell attached it to Newt's chest by a rope.

"What was that?!" Newt yelped, clutching his case protectively.

"I sealed it so it can't be opened without a Finite, waterproofed it so the creatures won't drown if it ends up in the water, and made it buoyant enough to float," Percival explained. "And it'll help you float if you end up in the water."

"But the charms!" Newt hissed. "You could have-"

"I cast on the outside of the case. None of the internal workings are affected. There's a separation ward; I checked when I was examining it the other day," Percival explained. "Probably done by the original Charms Master who sold you the case. I would have told you to do it if I wasn't sure of it."

"Oh." Newt deflated, but kept his tight hold on the case. "Anything else?"

Percival swished his wand again, laying down a Disillusionment on the rope. "That should be enough. It'll keep everyone safe. Might be nothing serious, but it's nothing we can't undo."

"Thank you," Newt smiled shyly. "I- I wouldn't have thought of that."

Percival smiled kindly. "I'm sure you would have if you were faced with the imminent prospect of a quick dip. Now, shall we go?"

Newt nodded and started heading back to the dining room. Percival took one last look around the kitchen for evidence of the magic – it wouldn't do to reveal themselves if the ship was not in so much peril. No signs, so he followed Newt.

They found all three families crowded into the Goldsteins' cabin, Queenie in tears and sobbing. "What's happened?" Percival asked, not wasting time on pleasantries.

"I'm not sure," Primadora fretted. "About an hour, an hour and a half ago, she started screaming and crying, but she's not making much sense."

"Alright," Percival said soothingly. "You're probably aware there was a problem with the ship. She might be picking up on crewmen caught in whatever happened. I have a small skill in legilimency; may I try to connect directly with her mind?"

Romulus looked up from his weeping daughter. "Would that be safe?" he asked.

Percival knelt in front of Queenie. "It should be very safe," he said. "I wouldn't suggest it unless I was sure I could do it without hurting her. I did a training course and passed on its use in various aspects of law enforcement, including aiding the recall of eyewitnesses. I admit I'm not very practised, but I am capable."

The older Goldsteins exchanged a look, and Romulus nodded. "Alright," he sighed.

Percival nodded to him, then turned all his attention on Queenie, who was rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, as though trying to block out her connection to others' minds. "Queenie," the auror said gently. "Queenie, I need you to look at me."

"No!" she wailed. "Voices, too many voices and thoughts and fear and dying- no!"

Percival reached up and grabbed her wrists. "I know, but I need to work out what all those voices and thoughts are; I need to understand them. Then I can help you get away from all that. But I need you to look at me and let me in."

After a moment, Queenie lowered her hands and looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks marring her cheeks. Percival focused on her eyes, drew his wand and murmured "Legilimens!"

Usually there were clear images of memories flashing past until he focused in, but Queenie showed him her view of the room and Percival himself kneeling in front of him. The difference was a deafening roar of thoughts, of mind's-voices ringing out. He focused, and started using a process usually used to bar outside memories from intruding into the memory of interest, to block out the thoughts.

First were a gaggle of people thinking in other languages, the foreign tongues making it easier to push them away. Then he filtered out those of Newt, the other Goldsteins, the Bareboneses and the Kowalskis.

The remaining, potentially useful thoughts were mostly a mass of confusion. Confusion would not help, so Percival winnowed through the voices, blocking one after another from the joined minds. There were left desperate engineers in various half-flooded engine rooms, worrying about pumps and electricity generators and boilers. There were stewards, worrying about passengers disregarding their instructions. There were officers, concerned about the state of the ship. There were some wireless telegraph operators, communicating with a ship that would arrive in a few hours. And there were two minds, ringing clearly, that they had no idea how long the ship would last.

Percival focused on those, but Queenie's untrained abilities prevented him from getting anything more than the heartsick concern those two men gave off, and a few passing thoughts. He couldn't even identify who the two men were who clearly knew there was an otherwise unknown problem. But he knew what he had to do. He shut off those final two connections and drew back into his own head. The protections wouldn't last long after he left Queenie's mind, though.

He blinked, back in his own head. "Thank you, Queenie," he said. "I think it would be best if you slept for a while now, okay?" Queenie nodded desperately, so he hit her with a low-powered stunner, letting her slump onto her father.

"What's happening?" Joseph Kowalski asked.

"There was an iceberg," Percival reported. "Some of the compartments are flooding. There's a ship on the way and will be here in maybe three hours, but two people think we may not stay afloat long enough. Something about being too weak and cracking on another ship. It was muddled, and while Queenie's got the mental power to reach those two, I couldn't refine her reach enough for a good look, or even identify them, and I think one of them's going into shock as well. But they really don't think the ship will last until the rescue arrives."

"But this is the Titanic!" Mary Lou Barebone exclaimed. "She's meant to be unsinkable!"

"I can only tell you what they're thinking," Percival said flatly. "A lot of crewmen and a number of passengers believe the ship will go down. It's just those two who think it might be too fast."

"Are the boats going out?" Romulus asked.

"Yes," Percival and Newt both answered at once.

"They're prioritizing women and children," Percival added. "There's not enough space on the boats for everyone, and the main staircases up to the decks are all clogged with people anyway."

"Can we get up there before all the boats leave?" Primadora asked pragmatically.

"There's always apparition," Newt suggested. Percival glared at him.

"Wouldn't a bunch of Third Class passengers stand out in the First Class cabins?" Mary Lou asked, slightly snide. "At least I hope you're not planning on just popping into existence on the deck."

"Of course not," Newt scoffed.

"Um, Mr Newt? Mr Percival?" Jacob asked. "What would happen if we're still on the ship when it sinks?"

"If you're below decks, it'll be fast," Percival said shortly. "You'd be drowned within minutes. If you were on deck and floated off into the water…I have no idea what your chances would be."

"But if we're in the boats, we'll be safe," Newt said hesitantly.

"Yes, but I don't know if they'll keep letting everyone in the boats," Percival frowned. "They'll let the children in, probably the ladies, but…"

"I'll stay behind," Joseph offered. Everyone turned to look at him. "I'll take my chances on lasting until a rescue arrives. Just…get my boy out. Please."

"Father?" asked Jacob hesitantly.

"Got something for you in our cabin," Joseph said gruffly. "Come on. We'll be back in a few minutes."

Percival nodded solemnly. "I'd say take as much time as you need, but…"

"I understand," Joseph nodded. "Thank you for not trying to talk me out of it." He took his son's shoulder and steered him away.

"Is it that serious?" Primadora asked quietly.

"It's a case of us being either probably doomed, or worrying unnecessarily, but we don't know which," Percival said. "I'd rather prepare for the worst."

"I think you should try for a place on a boat, Percival," Newt spoke up. "You're a high ranking auror; MACUSA needs you. And someone needs to tell our governments what happened, to take care of Jacob and any of the other children if necessary. You promised to look after my creatures. And if I don't- I'd need you to tell Theseus."

"What do you intend to do, Mr Scamander?" Primadora asked him.

"I intend to be on deck," Newt said. "If I can get on a boat without kicking off any women or children, I will, but if not I'll try my luck in the water. And Percival promised to retrieve my case and my beasts if I don't make it. He can't do that if it's at the bottom of the ocean."

"If you end up in the water," Percival said in a low quiet voice, "You won't have much of a chance. And it would be a terrible way to go."

"For my beasts, I'll risk it," Newt said stubbornly. "Are we all agreed to get the children to the boats, and for Percival at least to go with them? What about you, Mrs Barebone?"

Mary Lou looked downcast. "I think I would like a chance to talk to Mr Graves alone, if you please," she determined.

"Of course," Percival said. "Over here." He tugged her into a corner and set up a quick privacy ward. "They can't hear us, and we can't hear them," he explained.

Mary Lou nodded slowly. "Mr Graves, this is your world. It's not mine. I can't shake a deep revulsion I feel for magic, and I'm finding it so hard to care for my children. I don't understand it. I feel torn between my family and my belief in the Bible. I don't know if I can do it. If God saves me from this, then I believe He will strengthen me. If He ends my torment, then I will be with Him. And my children will be raised by an upright man who will teach them right and care for them properly."

"You are certain?" Percival asked quietly. "You have a better chance than me of being given a place on a boat."

"I am certain," Mary Lou said. "If God wishes me to continue, He will preserve me. If He takes me home, my children are in your care."

"Mine?" Percival asked. "Mrs Barebone, I've never raised children before. I'm sure if you asked the Goldsteins, or if MACUSA found them a family-"

"I'd rather give them into your care," Mary Lou said firmly. "Besides, weaning and toilet training are the worst, and Modesty's just about past that."

"You understand that I can't guarantee I will be in a position to take them?" Percival asked.

"You ask me a lot more than you asked Mr Kowalski," Mary Lou commented.

"Women and children first," Percival reminded her. "We can't be sure any of us gentlemen will get in the boats. And his Jacob is twelve, not two."

"I have a better chance, true; and more to live for," Mary Lou acknowledged. "But I also have more to die for. Please, allow me to commit myself to the Lord, and do all you can to take care of my children. That's all I can ask for."

Percival bowed his head. "As you wish. I hope I get the chance to return them to you, but I accept your decision. And of course I will take charge of your children."

Mary Lou nodded. "I shall say my goodbyes, then," she said, and swept away with Credence, Chastity and Modesty.

The older Goldsteins were talking to each other under another privacy ward while Newt and Tina bundled Queenie into extra clothes. Newt's case swung off the bunk whenever stood up too much, hanging from the rope Percival gave it. Newt was also setting aside clothes for Tina.

"Mrs Barebone is staying below," Percival whispered to Newt. "Tina, let me take care of Queenie. You dress yourself."

"Okay, Mr Percival," Tina said.

As she bundled herself into her clothing, her parents re-joined them. "I don't think I have must chance," Romulus started.

"And I won't leave him," Primadora finished. "We will share one fate, as we always have."

"Are you sure?" Percival asked. "Mrs Goldstein, would you orphan your daughters in one stroke?"

"How can I raise them longing for the dead?" Primadora asked rhetorically. "They'd be better with a complete fresh start. And you know how to help Queenie with her Legilimency; you can mentor Tina into the Auror Office. What you can give them is more than we can."

"Please, I do not think this is rational," Percival pleaded. "Your children need their mother."

"They need a fresh start more than they need a woman broken with grief," Primadora argued.

"But we don't know that those who stay are doomed," Percival tried.

"Then I too shall be safe," Primadora said with an air of finality.

Percival sighed. "You should tell Tina, and give her a message for Queenie," he said. Then he turned to Newt. "Looks like it's just you, me, and the children."

"Why is Mrs Barebone staying?" Newt whispered.

"Can't stand the magic."

"That's crazy," Newt snorted.

Percival shrugged helplessly. "I know, but I can't exactly force her. And I can't force Mrs Goldstein either. I'm just glad neither are insisting on their children staying as well."

"They wouldn't!" Newt said, horrified.

"I've heard cases of mothers murdering their children before committing suicide," Percival muttered.

"But- I mean, I wouldn't do that even to my beasts," Newt murmured.

"Let's just focus on the children," Percival said firmly. "They've been given to our care. Protect our own, remember?"

Newt looked over at Romulus Goldstein giving his older daughter a deep hug. "And the parents aren't ours to protect," he sighed.

"They're old enough to make that decision for themselves," Percival said helplessly. "If they change their minds, they can take steps to save themselves."

"Not so many steps," Newt muttered, nodding towards the Goldsteins. Percival looked over; Romulus and Primadora were presenting Tina with their wands.

"There's not much magic they could secretly have done anyway," Percival sighed. "Help me put this life belt on Queenie."

"What? Oh." Newt helped Percival wrestle the unconscious girl into the vest and tied the cords as Percival held her.

"You might have to carry Modesty," Percival commented. "I think we can depend on the others to walk. If not, Jacob can probably manage Modesty."

"I understand," Newt nodded. "Our priority is to get the children onto a boat."

"Mr Percival?"

Percival turned. Jacob was standing in the doorway alone, already bundled up in his life belt, which stuck out a little. He'd probably bundled up some mementos from his father in there. He was quaking slightly, looking scared and unsure.

"Jacob, come here," Percival smiled.

"Father said…he said…he might not see me again," Jacob whispered.

"He's placed you in my charge," Percival explained. "Until he reclaims you, or you come of age and make your own way in life, I'm to be your guardian and caretaker. I'll do my best to do right by you and your father. Alright?"

"I…I think so," Jacob muttered.

"Good," Percival nodded. "Now, I've also been given charge of the Goldstein sisters and the Barebone children. Do you think you can help me and Newt with them?"

Jacob nodded slowly. "Yes, I can help," he said.

"We're going to go up on deck and get into a boat. I might need you to look after the others for a while," Percival explained.

Mary Lou appeared in the door, Credence and Chastity clinging to her skirts and Modesty in her arms. Credence had a large book stuffed in his life belt and both girls had a few extra pieces of jewellery. "Mr Graves," Mary Lou said. She made to give Modesty to him, but paused when she saw Queenie in his arms. Newt stepped forward and took the toddler.

"I'll take her," he said. "I'm helping Percival get them to the boat."

"Thank you, Mr Scamander," Mary Lou answered, smiling weakly. "You have such a kind heart."

"My animals aren't that different from your children," Newt mumbled. "And I can't not help."

Mary Lou smiled again, and dipped her head to kiss Modesty's brow. "Lord bless you, my daughter," she whispered. Then she turned to kneel before her older two.

A new noise started to build up outside the cabin. One word was distinguishable: water. Percival started. "I'm sorry to rush you, ladies, but I think we have to go now," he said.

Tina broke away from her parents, and Mary Lou shooed Credence and Chastity after her. "I think we'll have to apparate," Newt said.

"Can you side-along three?" Percival asked dubiously.

"I've only side-alonged one before, but I think I can do it," the younger said.

Percival paused. "No, you just take Modesty. I'll come back for Credence and Chastity."

For a moment, it looked like Newt would argue, but he nodded. "Where to?"

"My cabin. Tina, Jacob. Hold onto my arms. Hold tight." As the two oldest children took hold, he focused on his cabin, mustered his magic, and _moved_.

There was a moment of disorientation, then everything settled. Off-kilter, true, but that was more due to the ship than post-apparition disorientation. Tina and Jacob released his arms and Percival turned to set Queenie down on his bed. While his back was turned, there was a crack as Newt arrived. Percival gave him a once-over, and saw no sign of splinching. He nodded, and willed himself back to the Third Class cabin.

Credence and Chastity both looked nervous, but took his hands as he offered them. Percival looked around at the remaining parents, and said "Good luck." Then, he apparated once again.

By the third apparition, Percival was starting to feel a little light-headed, but he had all his charges. They were all bundled up warm with life belts, and they were much nearer the boats. "Time to go," he announced, releasing the Bareboneses and lifting Queenie again.

He led the way out of his cabin, and pushed through the crowd, loudly announcing "Children coming through!" Glancing behind every now and again, he saw Jacob holding Tina's hand tight and Credence and Chastity holding Newt's coat as he brought up the rear. Newt's case was clutched next to Modesty, mostly obscured between the girl and his coat.

It seemed to take an age, but it was probably only a few minutes before they made it onto deck. "I need to get these children to a boat!" Percival called. Heads turned, and to his relief a path was cleared to where three officers were directing ladies into a boat.

"Officer!" Percival yelled, and all three looked round. One peeled off and came over.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"These children are in my charge," Percival explained. "I have to see them to safety."

"Alright," the officer said. "Let's get them into the boat." He led them forward to the boat.

The other two officers looked over. "Mr Lowe, you have the boat," one of them called, before both left and disappeared into the crowd.

Officer Lowe stepped into the boat and held out his arms. "Pass me the girl," he said.

Percival handed Queenie over. "We had to give her a little something to sleep," he explained. He glanced over at Newt, and gestured to him to pass Modesty.

Newt nudged Tina and Jacob forward, and the officer frowned. "How old is this young man?" he asked.

"He's twelve," Percival said quickly. "Please, these children are my charges-"

"Women and children only, sir; sorry," the officer said firmly. "Come on, young man."

Percival gripped Jacob's shoulder for a moment. "You look after the others," he said. "I'll try and catch up with you later."

"Yes, Mr Percival," Jacob nodded. "And Mr Newt?"

"We'll both catch up later," Percival assured him. The officer grimaced, but thankfully didn't contradict him. Percival knew it would be very difficult if not impossible to survive in the water, but he'd try.

"Alright," Jacob said, taking a tight hold of Tina's hand.

Percival helped them into the boat before taking the toddler from Newt and giving her to Officer Lowe. After a moment, Credence and Chastity were safely in as well.

Lowe stood up and climbed back on deck. "Any more women?" he shouted. "Any children?" There was no response. "You, crewman, and you, prepare to lower away. You, in the boat. Any more crewmen?" Again, no response. The officer puffed a frustrated breath. "Any men with boating experience?"

Newt nudged him. "Percival, you rowed in school, didn't you?" he said.

Percival stared at him for a moment. True, he had mentioned over dinner one night that he'd boated on the river around Ilvermorny, but it wasn't much by way of experience. It was some, and…

And it would give him the best chance of surviving to look after the children, to come back for Newt and his creatures, to tell Theseus if the younger Scamander didn't make it.

And no-one was trying to submit a rival claim to boating experience.

"Right, you come and help," Officer Lowe told Percival. The officer climbed back into the boat, and Percival was about to follow him when Newt caught his sleeve.

"Percival, tell my brother…" he started, but quickly faded.

Percival nodded shortly. "I know. I will." He turned his back on the deck, and settled down next to an oar.

"Lower away!" Officer Lowe yelled, and as he settled in the front of the boat, he murmured, "I guess you'll stay with your charges after all."

"I just want them to survive, sir," Percival answered.

The boat had started to judder and sink as the lines were let out, and there was a sudden clamour starting up on deck. Percival looked up. He could see Newt, standing at the rail and watching them, and the crowd behind thickening, yelling and shouting. Lowe stood up, drew his pistol, and fired three shots. "Back off!" he yelled. "Or you'll go head first into the ocean, if you don't foul the lowering!"

Percival saw Newt look over his shoulder, then back to the boat. Percival nodded to him, and Newt smiled, a tense and brittle thing. The boat stuttered, and continued descending.

Eventually, the boat hit the water. The air was biting cold, and Percival was only too willing to bend to the oar to warm up a little. "We need to draw away, so they can lower the next boat," Officer Lowe called.

It was very dark, and cold, and Percival didn't want to think about Newt left on the ship to brave the water, or Joseph who felt sure he wouldn't get a boat and would rather a quick death below, or Mary Lou almost preferring to die than keep bouncing between magic and religion, or the Primadora and Romulus who'd rather die together than live for their daughters. He didn't want to think about the unnumbered hundreds left behind.

He couldn't save everyone; he could only care for his own. He had the tracker in the niffler's hoard in Newt's case to guide him back to Newt, and he had his six children beside him.

And everyone else would-

No, Percival couldn't think of that. He had to remain clear-thinking, so if Newt did end up in the water, he could take advantage of any chance to go back for him. He had to think of something else.

The children. If their parents didn't make it, he would of course take them in. Despite his protests to Mary Lou, he couldn't just pass them off on someone else. He had his family's townhouse in New York; his parents preferred the manor outside Washington DC. He could fit six children in the townhouse, if he converted one of the sitting rooms into a bedroom and the girls didn't mind sharing two-to-a-room. And there was the smaller study he could offer Newt; small, yes, but Newt had his case.

Tina would go to Ilvermorny in a year and a half. And Queenie two years later. He'd have to find a no-maj school for Jacob. Credence, Chastity and Modesty? He'd have to wait and see.

He might have to hire a governess to look after the children while he was at work. Could he offer another room if she was live-in? The attic could be quite nice if done properly, and he'd have a bit of time to maybe even get a professional in.

It would be strange to suddenly be raising children, but it might prove rewarding too. Queenie had an amazing amount of talent, and Tina was most likely powerful as well. They'd make fine daughters for him.

Jacob and the younger children, he wasn't so sure of. He didn't know what to offer a squib, and it was Newt who'd got on with the little ones.

Newt would be fine. He had the case, and Percival would find him.

But what if he found him too late? How could he tell Theseus he let Newt die?

By reminding him of the children. Theseus may still be stricken over Newt's loss, but he'd understand the children came first.

No, mustn't think of Newt dying. Newt had a bright future ahead of him. Percival still had all the paperwork he'd written up for Newt's creatures and case, and the new cats were no-maj animals so there'd be no problems there. Newt would survive, and they'd all be together, and Newt would take a governmental apprenticeship in Magizoology and be a great help to the Security department.

Titanic may even stay afloat long enough for the rescue ship to arrive, and all this worrying would be for nothing.

"Mr Percival?" Jacob said. "Can I help with the rowing?"

"I suppose, if Officer Lowe agrees," Percival answered. He didn't have a problem with it, and it would probably be good for Jacob to have something to focus on, but chain of command was important and Officer Lowe was at the top.

"He can do counter-rowing," Lowe called from the front of the boat.

Jacob looked confused, and Percival couldn't blame him. Luckily, the other crewmen leant over. "Sit opposite your Mr Percival, young man," he advised. "Take hold of his oar, and push when he pulls and pull when he pushes. Let him direct the oar."

Jacob followed his instructions, and added his strength to Percival's. Initially the oar jerked a little, Jacob out of sync or adding too much or too little. But after a few minutes he got the hang of it.

"Lay by here!" Officer Lowe called. The crewman pulled his oar in, and Percival followed suit. There were a few other boats nearby, some still moving and others stationary.

There was a shuddering boom, an explosion, from the ship. Then another, and another, then a fourth. Percival looked up at it, and saw the light flicker, and go out. The ship was tilting, the front down in the water and the back starting to raise up.

There was a low curse from the officer. Percival looked back and saw him waving to some of the boats. The four nearest turned towards them; none of the others were clearly seen and no doubt had missed Officer Lowe's signalling.

Titanic was going down fast, her front deep under water and her back tilting up rapidly. She was getting hard to see, but screams and cries were carrying across the water. The pessimistic minds had been proved right, and the ship was going down with the rescue still some hours away.

"Seaman!" Officer Lowe called. One of the boats was almost nest to them, and Officer Lowe threw him a rope. The seaman on the other boat took the rope and between them they pulled the boats together.

"We'll get a couple boats together," Officer Lowe told his colleague. "Bring those others together."

"Yes, sir," the seaman replied. The two flagged down and brought over three more boats, while Percival turned back to the ship.

Her rear was now standing up in the water almost perpendicular, and her prow was entirely beneath the waves. They were no more than two hundred yards away, but the people still aboard and in the water near them were hidden in the darkness. One man floated nearby, his life belt holding him aloft, but his slack jaw and vacant eyes revealed him to be beyond help.

With a final shudder, the last of the ship slipped beneath the unnaturally still sea, sending out only a ripple where she had vanished.

But it was not quiet. All those in the water raised their voices in desperate cries, in fear and pain and dying hope. Screaming, calling, to God, to loved ones, to those in the boats, pleading for rescue.

"Mr Percival?" Tina asked. "My parents were on the ship."

"Yes, they were," Percival confirmed.

"And Mr Kowalski and Mrs Barebone?"

"Yes, they stayed behind," Percival sighed.

"And Mr Newt?" Tina demanded. "He was on deck."

"He's going to swim," Percival told her. "He's probably heading for us right now."

"But not my parents," Tina said quietly. There were tears running silently down her cheeks.

"We should say a prayer," one of the other passengers said. "Our Father…"

Voices joined in, different forms and different languages. Credence and Chastity bent their heads together, whispering together. Jacob closed his eyes, murmuring a Jewish prayer.

The prayers tapered off, and Officer Lowe stood up. "Right. We'll move you into this boat, and this one, and some in that one, then this one can go back."

"Can we afford to wait, sir?" Percival asked. He kept his voice balanced, not pushing, or challenging, just asking Officer Lowe to consider it.

"If we go out in that lot, they'll have us over," Officer Lowe grunted. "We wait until things have quietened down."

"You mean when they're half dead?" one of the women called out.

"Ma'am, we can save some, or none," Percival rebuffed. "There must be hundreds of people out there. We can't save them all, and if we don't accept that and our limitations, we won't make it either."

The woman recoiled. "How cold-hearted!"

"I call it being pragmatic," Percival retorted.

"Yeah, well, you need to move over," Officer Lowe interrupted. "Come on, ladies, get up."

"Sir, we're pretty full," the seaman in the other boat said.

"Don't be a fool; your floating capacity's nearly twice what you've got," Officer Lowe scoffed. "Up you get, ma'am, let me help you over."

The first woman carefully stepped into the other boat. Another boat was approaching from the other side. Percival leant over to whisper to Jacob.

"Listen, Jacob, I need you to take the girls and Credence and go into another boat," he said. "I'm going to help go back and find others, like Newt. You'll be safe in a boat. And when another ship arrives and takes you aboard, tell them my name. Tell them I'm your guardian, and I went with Officer Lowe. Got that?"

"I'm with Mr Percival Graves, he's my guardian and he went with Officer Lowe," Jacob recited.

"And you stay with the others, understand? You have to look after them," Percival insisted.

"I will," Jacob promised.

Percival smiled. "Good lad," he said. He stood, putting his hand on Jacob's shoulder for a moment to steady himself, then called out to the other boat. "Ho there! Throw us a rope."

One of the men in the other boat tossed Percival a line, and drew over. "You need assistance?" the seaman asked.

"We're moving passengers across," Percival explained. "Officer's going to take the boat back for more."

"He sure about that?" the other man asked.

"I am indeed, Able Seaman," Officer Lowe called over. "You can take another two dozen or so."

"Yes, sir," the seaman replied. He turned to his passengers and started directing them to move up.

"Come on, Jacob, you go across," Percival said. He helped the boy across, and the seaman steadied him. Then Percival scooped up the still-sleeping Queenie.

It took nearly ten minutes for Percival to get all his charges safe in the other boat. He was starting to help the ladies over, when he heard a curse from Officer Lowe. Percival looked over; a man in women's clothing had been shoved into the other boat by a disgusted Officer Lowe.

Then there were no more women or children. "I need a few more seamen," Officer Lowe called out. "Sir, you can move across now," he told Percival.

"I'd rather assist you, sir," Percival said.

"The Mr Newt your charge spoke of?" Officer Lowe asked quietly.

"The seventeen-year-old brother of a colleague of mine," Percival explained. "We met on the ship."

"You know there's little chance of finding anyone in particular?" Officer Lowe warned.

"I can try," Percival answered. He twitched his wand hand, silently and wandlessly casting the spell to find the tracking rune that would lead him to Newt. He felt the slight pull towards the crying mass of dying people, but did not yet act on it.

"Well, you follow my lead, yes?" Officer Lowe said. "Take an oar."

"Yes, sir," Percival nodded. He retook his seat and readied his oar to go out again. Each of the new boats sent over one of their seamen, and Officer Lowe soon had a crew of six.

"We'll give it a little longer," Lowe decided. He turned again, and started calling to the seamen still in the other boats, arranging for the other boats to be pulled away to let Officer Lowe's boat out oars when it was time to go.

The scream died to something more of a whimper, when Officer Lowe finally gave the order to return to the sight of the sinking. They back-rowed away from the little gathering of boats, then Officer Lowe directed a turn. And then finally they were off.

The water was still as the boat cut through the freezing night. Percival kept the gentle pull of the tracker in the back of his mind that still wasn't directing him in much of a direction other than back to the site where the ship went down. Hopefully it would become easier to pinpoint as they got nearer.

One of the cries became clearer, louder. Percival glanced over his shoulder and saw a man flailing slightly as he tried to swim. Officer Lowe steered them towards the struggling figure, and he came closer.

"Please, for the love of God, help!" he cried.

"You three, mind your oars," Officer Lowe instructed. "And be ready to haul aboard."

Percival watched his oar carefully, trying to maintain the level of thrust without risking hitting the fast-approaching swimmer. When he neared, Percival and the other two stilled. One of the seaman pulled his oar in, and reached out to grab the half-drowned man's hand.

Percival pulled in his oar and carefully stood. He stretched out and helped pull the swimmer in. He collapsed in a pile of icy water, curling in on himself, at the bottom of the boat. Percival helped him upright and onto a seat before returning to his oar.

Officer Lowe continued to direct the boat, while Percival reached for the tracking magic. He wasn't about to leave Newt's retrieval to chance; it just would have been suspicious to find him first. His magic wrapped around the distant tracker and a gentle summoning started pulling it closer.

One of the seamen called out that he'd spotted someone, and Officer Lowe started to adjust the course. Percival, like the others, stole glances at the new target, and then sighed. The man in the water was almost reclining in his life belt, but his eyes were open and vacant. "Sir, he's gone," Percival said.

"I want confirmation on that," Officer Lowe growled. "Keep going."

Percival frowned to himself; he'd have preferred to try finding someone less dead. He kept up his low-powered charm, hoping Newt was in a better state.

The man in the water did prove dead, but there was another just beyond him still just about breathing. As the boat ventured further into the sinking site, more bodies passed by, and Newt came nearer.

Eventually, Percival spotted a flash of red and blue. He felt out with his magic; it was Newt. He pointed out the slight figure, and to his relief Officer Lowe agreed to head for him. As they got closer, he came into focus. Newt had tucked his case under his chin and hugged it close while he kicked away. His coat and hair appeared to be bone dry; an imperturbable charm. Percival whispered a Finite, and his young friend was soon soaked.

His kicking slowed, and Percival hoped he hadn't taken Newt's chance away. It couldn't be helped, either way; the Statue must stand.

Percival was first to pull in his oar, and he could just make out Newt's eyes fixing on him. Newt twisted, aiming for Percival, but he looked nearly as badly off as the other rescued men.

The auror leant out as the magizoologist approached and snagged the shoulder strap of his life belt. Tugging Newt a little closer, Percival adjusted his grip to Newt's armpits and lifted him, case and all, into the boat.

Newt huddled in the bottom of the boat, a death's grip on his precious case. "P-p-perci-i-ival," he stuttered.

"I've got you, Newt," Percival answered. "You're safe now."

Newt twisted slightly, and pressed himself to Percival's legs, laying his cheek on Percival's knee. "Chi-chi-children," he managed.

"We put them safe on one of the other boats," Percival reassured him. "Jacob's taking care of them."

"Looks like you got your friend," Officer Lowe commented. "Let's see who else we can find."

Newt nodded out to sea. "Th-that w-w-way," he stuttered through chattering teeth. "Bu-bu-bunch of people-le. S-s-some were st-st-still…" he trailed off, and Percival didn't push him.

"That'll do," Officer Lowe grunted. "Get back to rowing."

Percival extended his oar again, watching carefully to make sure he wasn't accidentally hitting Newt. The boat continued on, and as Newt had indicated they soon reached a group of bodies. But one man called out, and Lowe had them help him aboard.

The dark sky was marked only by stars, no moon visible. Suddenly, a new burst of light appeared in the sky. "Wha- wha' tha'?" Newt mumbled.

"That'll be a flare," one of the seamen said. "Another ship's arrived."

"We'll head towards her," Officer Lowe decided. "There's probably boats nearer, and dawn's not so far off. Men!" He started to direct a few of the seamen in raising a sail, before they continued around the sinking site.

Percival leant on his oar once more. He was tired, and cold, and his feet were wet, but he was alive and safe, and not in serious danger of hypothermia. Newt would need some Pepper-Up potion as soon as it could be clandestinely administered. It was just a matter of getting through the night, and letting the new day bring what it would.

"Ho there!" A voice cried out. Officer Lowe perked up and scanned the sea.

Another boat had appeared. "Ho!" Officer Lowe called back. "Men, oars." He directed them towards the other boat, letting the sail slack to give the rowers more control.

It was a smaller boat, with canvas sides. It was swaying noticeably in the water, and a seaman stood in the front, waving. The two sailors shouted back and forth a little, and Officer Lowe decided to take the other boat, a collapsible as he called it, in tow.

Percival took the opportunity to rest for a bit. Newt was still resting his head in his lap, and appeared to be nodding off. Percival shook him. "Newt, you need to stay awake," he said. "It's not good sleep now. Just stay awake a little longer."

Newt mumbled, and jerked slightly. He was hardly shivering any more, and his teeth had stopped chattering. "So…cold…" he mumbled.

"I know, but you have to stay awake," Percival told him.

"Tryin'…"

One of the seamen cursed. "Sir, this one's gone," he called out, kneeling by one of the men pulled from the sea.

"Alright," Officer Lowe sighed. "See if there's anything to identify him."

"William Hoyt," the seaman replied. "Of New York."

"Nothing more we can do for him," Officer Lowe said. "Ready to move on."

The sail was raised again, and as before they used the oars for assisting steering and to help catch breezes. They were slightly slower, with the collapsible towed behind them, but making progress towards where they'd seen the rocket flare. The sky was lightening; dawn was approaching.

Shapes started to come into focus. There were mounds of ice, floating pieces of timber and debris, and more bodies. The cries had died away entirely. A dark shadow of the rescue ship was just visible.

"Sir!" someone in the collapsible yelled. "Boat!" He stood and pointed.

Officer Lowe stood up and gazed at the other boat. It seemed to be in a sorry state. The officer looked back at his towed collapsible before looking out at the new boat. "Seaman, we're heading for it," he called out. "If you can't safely stay on tow, we'll drop you and come back for you."

"Yes sir," the seaman called back. The sailors in Percival's boat adjusted the sail, and Officer Lowe directed two of the rowers to out oars on the same side to help turn the boat, sending them towards the foundering boat.

It was another collapsible, but its sides were still down and it was flooded with water. About two dozen people huddled together, cold and wet and sick. Officer Lowe pulled down his sail and ordered them taken aboard.

Percival carefully balanced himself at the edge of the boat, helping one man after another over the side. Then there were only three people left in the stricken boat, and they didn't answer any calls. Percival stepped over, and bent down next to the nearest. "This one's gone, sir!" he called back to the officer.

It took Officer Lowe a moment to respond. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Percival responded.

"They've been dead some time," one of the newly rescued men said.

"Are you sure?" Officer Lowe repeated.

"Absolutely sure," the man replied.

"Please check on the other two," Officer Lowe instructed, and Percival went about the grisly task as the officer spoke to the rescued people. The three bodies were cold to the touch – which unfortunately didn't say so much about time of death, as even Newt was cold.

"Sir, they're all dead," Percival called over.

"Leave them, and come back," Officer Lowe ordered. "We're here to save life, not bother about bodies," he muttered, probably to himself.

One of the sailors helped Percival steady himself as he reboarded the boat. His trousers were soaked from kneeling in the icy water to check the corpses, and Newt was quick to reattach himself when Percival took his seat once more. Officer Lowe continued to converse with the new arrivals a little longer, before ordering the sail up again to continue towards the rescue ship.

There was a cluster of empty boats at the base of the ship. There were lines and ladders all down the side of the ship and a few figures could be seen making their way up. It would not be much longer until they reached it, and hopefully the children were already aboard.

Percival shook Newt, who was half-asleep again. "Hey, stay awake," he reminded him. "Look, we're nearly to the ship."

Newt raised his head. His wet hair had started to ice up, and Percival ran his fingers over it to clear the frozen crystals. "Still cold," Newt mumbled.

"It'll be warmer on the ship," Percival reassured him. "You just need to stay awake to get there."

"'M trying," Newt sighed.

Percival let Newt rest on his shoulder. The young man was freezing cold, but Percival could spare a little body heat. They just had to hold on a little longer.

"Sail down! Out oars!" Officer Lowe yelled as they approached the ship. Percival carefully extended his oar while two sailors wrestled with the sail. He had to twist in his seat to get back in position, and turn his back on the ship. Newt made a grumpy snort at being disturbed, but Percival ignored it. The rowing would warm him, and more warmth for him meant more Newt could leech off him.

Off they went, and some time later there was a slight bump as they hit the side of the ship. A few shouted directions brought them safely alongside. "Passengers off first!" Officer Lowe called. "You, Madam, you go on up."

The single woman they picked up from the second collapsible started climbing up a ladder similar to the one in Newt's case. Officer Lowe stood up and gestured to both the men looking over the side of the ship and the seamen in the collapsible bobbing behind them. The collapsible pulled up to the ship and another ladder went down. Officer Lowe turned to survey his own complement.

"There should be a boatswain's chair coming," he announced. "Whoever can't climb goes up in that." He carefully moved between the passengers, helping them to their feet and assessing how mobile they were. Newt and the other two survivors from the water could barely stay upright, and a few from the collapsible were just as bad. Also, Newt would not let go of his case, although the notice-me-not was keeping Officer Lowe from noting it.

A queue had formed for the boatswain's chair, and Percival waited until Newt was safely on it before taking the ladder. He made it up to the ship's deck at about the same time his young friend did, and guided him away.

"Sirs." A man in a steward's uniform appeared carrying a blanket and a notebook. He offered the blanket, and Percival wrapped it around Newt. "May I take your names?" the steward asked.

"Percival Graves, of New York," Percival told him. "This is Newton Scamander, from England."

The steward scribbled the details in his notebook. "And what class were your tickets?"

"I was travelling first class, Mr Scamander second," Percival related. "I was given charge of some children; they were on another boat. Do you know…?"

"One moment," the steward said, flicking to an earlier page in his notebook. "That would be a Master Kowalski, two Miss Goldsteins, and three…?" He left it open, possibly as a test.

"The three youngest are Bareboneses," Percival finished for him, which would hopefully be enough to confirm he was the Percival Graves he'd told Jacob to ask for.

"First class dining room," the steward said. "If you could follow Walter, he'll show you the way."

"Thank you," Percival nodded. He led Newt over to the indicated steward, who led the way into the ship.

The dining room was fairly full; it wasn't nearly as big as Titanic's had been, and there were probably a few hundred people in there. Most were in life belts of blankets, but a few were moving between tables in stewards' uniforms, bringing mugs and blankets. Percival tugged Newt away from the door slightly and scanned the room, looking for his children.

"Mr Percival! Mr Newt!" Tina popped up. She'd removed her life belt, and the hem of her skirt was damp, but she seemed well. "We're over here," she said, and led them to a table.

Queenie was still asleep, the light stunner yet to wear off. Modesty, too, was sleeping, and Credence and Chastity most of the way to joining her. Jacob was still reasonably awake, propping up Queenie on one side and Modesty resting half on his lap on the other. There were steaming mugs on the table in front of him.

"Jacob, are you all okay?" Percival asked.

"Cold. Tired," Jacob answered. "And…I miss my father."

Percival sighed. "I know," he said, knowing just how inadequate his words were, but able to offer no more. "I know."

He pulled a chair out, and settled Newt into it. "Newt, we have to get your coat off now," he said carefully. "It's just making you more cold, okay?"

Newt looked up. "More cold?" he mumbled. "Don' want more cold." He seemed to be getting more alert and aware of himself, which was a good sign, but despite his words he resisted Percival's efforts to peel his blanket away to get to the wet clothes beneath.

"Newt, please, just let me do this," Percival sighed. He wrestled the blanket away and started fiddling at the cord on Newt's life belt. Which wasn't easy, because the case was in the way. So Percival tried to get it out of Newt's arms first. "Newt, you can let go know," he grunted. "It's not going to sink."

"Keep safe," Newt mumbled in response.

"It is safe, and I can take care of everyone if you let go of it now," Percival cajoled. He finally got the case away, and then he remembered the disillusioned rope. Which meant he had to surreptitiously vanish the rope. And since he was doing a little magic anyway he might as well Diffindo the life belt cords.

Newt was not happy about having his outer layers removed, but he was suffering confusion due to prolonged exposure to the extreme cold.

"Gentlemen," a voice said. "I'm a doctor. Please let me give you a quick check."

Percival turned. "Please," he said. "My friend was in the water for some time."

"Well, let's see," the doctor said. "Sir? Can you look at me? What's your name?"

"Newt," Newt mumbled. He lifted his head for a moment, before looking away again. "Newt Scamander."

"Alright, Newt," the doctor said. "I just want to listen to your heart. And can you tell me if you've hurt yourself anywhere?"

"No," Newt whispered. Percival had already pulled away his coat, so the doctor just had to pull aside Newt's jacket, vest and shirt to get his instrument in. He listened to Newt's heart for a moment, then smiled.

"Good news, Newt," he said. "Strong, regular heartbeat. Get a hot drink, try to get out of those wet clothes, a good few hours' sleep, and if you're still feeling sick or your extremities start turning blue, send a steward to find me."

"Thank you," Percival said. "The children?"

"I've already looked them over," the doctor answered. "I'm a little worried about the older blonde girl, but her sister said she was given a little something to help her sleep. She didn't know what, so if Sleeping Beauty hasn't woken by this afternoon send for me. Her parents may have overdone it a little."

Percival nodded, and thanked him once more. Of course it was Percival's own stunner that kept her asleep, so that wasn't actually a problem.

The doctor made an attempt at examining Percival, but the auror assured him it was unnecessary and encouraged him to move on. He tucked Newt's blanket around him again and slung his coat over the back of his chair to dry, before taking the time to remove his own life belt. He needed to get Newt that hot drink, he needed to sort out getting some beds for his children and Newt, and he need a chance to tend to Newt's animals and send a letter to MACUSA with the post owl. He looked around.

"Steward!" he called. One of the stewards came over carrying a tray of mugs.

"Drink, sir?" he offered. "Tea? Coffee? Soup?"

"Yes, thank you; a tea and a coffee," Percival said. "And- oh, yes, sugar for both, and milk in the tea. Thank you. Steward, would there possibly be some bunks for the children? And my friend was in the water for a time; the doctor told him to get some sleep."

"I believe there are some spare cabins," the steward said. "I'll see what I can do, but there won't be enough berths for everyone."

"Whatever you can do would be much appreciated," Percival thanked him fervently. He took the offered drinks, put down his coffee and helped Newt wrap his hands around the tea and take a deep drink.

"Better?" he asked the magizoologist.

"A little," Newt mumbled. "My creatures…"

"I'll take care of them as soon as I can," Percival promised. "I've asked for a cabin for all of us, and that'll give me a chance to feed everyone. I'd also like to send out Isaac with a letter to let MACUSA know what happened and to alert the Ministry and your brother."

"Theseus," Newt muttered. "Let him know…"

"I'll send the letter to New York and ask them to firecall London," Percival assured him. "I'd also like to use your potion ingredients and equipment. I'll replace anything I use up, of course."

"Whatever you need," Newt whispered. "Make sure everyone's well."

"I will, Newt, I promise," Percival repeated. Newt was starting to regain a little colour, but he was still not well. Percival took a sip of his coffee, grateful of the warmth and energy boost.

Jacob and Tina had soup, and there were a few empty mugs as well. Credence was taking sips of tea with increasing lethargy, and Chastity had given up entirely. They'd benefit from Pepper-Ups after they'd slept, and probably from calming draughts to prevent the magnitude of their loss hitting them for a few more days. Percival had no idea how to begin helping them come to terms with being orphans, and he doubted Newt would be much help. Also, Queenie would almost certainly going to get swept up the grief that was no doubt permeating the ship. There was a little known potion that could suppress legilimency, a variation on a befuddlement potion. It was usually used for prisoners with the talent, but Percival was sure he could remember how to brew it. A slightly enhanced memory was one of the more useful benefits of his expertise in the mind arts.

"Sir?"

Percival turned to find the steward had returned. "Yes?"

"We've found a cabin for you and your party," the stewards smiled. "It's only got four bunks, I'm afraid-"

"I'm sure we can make do," Percival replied, relieved. He turned to his children. "Tina, Jacob, Credence, drink up. Chastity? Wake up now. Just for a moment." He drained his coffee mug, and went around making sure everyone was alert enough to move. He helped Newt finish his tea, pressed his case into his hand and gave him his coat, before turning to scoop up Queenie. "Jacob, please carry Modesty," he instructed. "Tina, if you could hold Credence and Chastity's hands, please."

The steward seemed to be slightly bemused, watching Percival rally the children. "This way, sir," he said. "We reorganized a little when we started heading for you," the steward explained. "Moved our own passengers into shared rooms where possible and such, to free up more space for you and the other survivors. We're on the New York to the Mediterranean run, and most of our passengers go the other way, so we've got a decent amount of space. We'll still have to turn at least one or two of the dining rooms into dormitories, though. But your children should be fine, especially as the doctor says he wants to keep an eye on your girl there and the other gentleman."

"I greatly appreciate it," Percival commented. "Ah, which ship is this?"

"She's the Carpathia, under the command of Captain Rostron," the steward answered. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but are all these children yours? And is there a lady awaiting you?"

"Their parents put them in my charge, so yes, they're all mine now," Percival answered stiffly. "No lady, though."

The chatty steward looked equal parts distraught and mortified. "I am so sorry," he said. "I wish you the best of luck with the young ones."

"Thank you," Percival sighed. "I'm not entirely sure what to do with six children, but I guess I'll work it out."

The steward stopped by a door and opened it. "Some of the passengers are donating clothing and such, so we can probably find a few things for the children," he offered. "But I'll let you get them to bed."

Percival thanked him once again. The cabin had two bunk beds, a total of four beds. Newt would need one, at least for now. The Goldstein girls could share one, the Barebones girls another, and Credence could share with either his sisters or Jacob. It would be cramped, but workable.

He lay Queenie down on one of the lower bunks. It wouldn't be the best idea to put Modesty on one of the upper bunks, but Newt was in no shape to climb a ladder and he couldn't really bundle Queenie up either. It wasn't ideal, but Modesty would probably be alright.

"Children," Percival started. "Get off your outer layers. Anything wet, just put in that corner. We'll sort it out later. Tina, please help your sister."

"Mr Percival?" Credence asked hesitantly. "Mama gave me this." He held up a large book, a Bible, that had been tucked in his shirt.

Percival glanced over the other children. "Anything you got from your parents, just put down over here," he decided. He pried Newt's case out of his hand and put it on the floor next to the wall. "We'll store it in Newt's case later."

Jacob, Credence, Chastity and Modesty all proved to be wearing double- or triple-layers, while Tina had a number of shrinking storage boxes that her parents had packed up the family's possessions into. Percival had lost his spare suit with the Titanic, but Newt probably had most of his luggage in his case.

Percival left the children to their own devices for a minute to help Newt. The seventeen-year-old was still mostly unresponsive, and passively left Percival strip him to his underclothes. The wet clothing made a mound on the corner; he'd have to improvise a line to string them on so he could get away with drying them. There were also coats, socks, shoes and a few other thinks from the children, and half of Percival's clothes were damp.

Newt allowed himself to be bundled into one of the lower bunks, and Percival pulled the blanket over him, putting aside the damp one he'd had earlier.

"Okay," he said to the children. "Tina, you share with Queenie. Chastity, you and Modesty will take one of the top bunks. Jacob, the other. Credence, would you prefer to share with Jacob or your sisters?"

Credence glanced from Jacob to his sisters. "Chastity," he whispered.

"Alright, then," Percival nodded. He lifted Modesty, who had half-woken by now, into the bunk and boosted Credence and Chastity up to her. "You two make sure Modesty doesn't roll out of bed, yes?" he asked. Credence nodded, and let Percival tuck them in.

Jacob had also settled down, and so had Tina. Percival took a few minutes to awkwardly hang various wet garments off the top bunks in an effort to dry them somewhat, dried his own with a wave of his wand, and turned to Newt's case.

He dismissed the sealing charm and opened it up. It was dark inside, as the lights had been set to night mode. Percival activated the workshop's lights and climbed inside.

Samson and the recovered cats had bedded down on the work bench. Isaac the owl sat on his perch, and the door to the garden was ajar. Percival opened it fully and tapped the rune for daylight. A number of bowtruckles chirped at him. Vladimir the crup crossbreed sat up in his basket. Niffy stuck his snout out of his nest, the puffskeins were on the sofa and the salamanders' fire seemed to still be blazing. They'd all need feeding.

Percival returned to the workshop and dug out meat, woodlice, earth worms and wood. The creatures weren't terribly happy about Percival taking Newt's place, especially little Pickett, but they accepted the food. Percival moved the cats out into the garden and the sofa, refilled a few water bowls that were lying around, and then directed a steady stream of water at the base of the ash tree after one of the bowtruckles deliberately upset a bowl. Eventually all the creatures seemed happy, and Percival can return to caring for his little group of humans.

He found out two cauldrons, and summons a variety of ingredients from various places in the shed. He started the Calming Draught, and the befuddlement potion for Queenie, and found out Newt's store of Pepper-Up. The younger ones would need their sleep before they could start taking potions, so he had time to let them settle, and to write his letter.

He pulled out the stool and sat down, pulling parchment, quill and ink from a drawer. He considered his words, and started to write.

 _Percival Graves, Auror, Department of Magical Security, MACUSA_

 _To Seraphina Picquery, Secretary of the Embassy, MACUSA_

 _Dear Madam Picquery,_

 _Report SS Titanic departed Southampton on April twelfth. Magical and related complement as follows: myself; Newton Scamander; Romulus and Primadora Goldstein and daughters Tina and Queenie; Joseph Kowalski and son Jacob; Mary-Lou Barebone and children Credence, Chastity and Modesty. Ship struck iceberg and sank in the early hours of April fifteenth. Mr and Mrs Goldstein, Mr Kowalski and Mrs Barebone missing, believed dead. The children are all safe and in my care. Mr Scamander is suffering from prolonged exposure to freezing waters but is expected to recover fully. We are now aboard SS Carpathia. Advise firecalling the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Ministry of Magic, and Theseus Scamander, Auror, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic._

 _Yours, Percival Graves._

 _PS. Please offer the owl a space in the Owlery until I arrive in New York._

Percival put down the quill and reread the letter. It felt a little empty, but how could he put the whole story down in a letter?

He folded the letter and tied it to Isaac's leg. "This is to go to MACUSA in the Woolworth Building in New York," Percival told the owl. "I've made arrangements for you to stay in the official Owlery until Newt or I can collect you. Is that acceptable?"

Isaac gave a low hoot and fluttered off his perch. Percival held out his arm and the barn owl landed on it. He drew his wand, and prepared a spell. "Just a Disillusionment charm, to keep you from no-maj eyes," he reassured the owl. "It'll wear off in half a day." Post owls were intelligent enough to find people and locations, but also to recognize magic being cast on them. A post owl sitting on your arm was usually safe, but not if you caught them unaware with a spell.

Isaac made a disgruntled noise as the spell took hold, but didn't fight. Percival would just take him up on deck so he could fly off, and maybe find a few little things for the cabin.

* * *

It was dark in New York by the time Percival and his group disembarked Carpathia. There'd been immigration difficulties, and that would be best dealt with by formally getting custody of the children that would be recognised by the no-maj authorities, but that would require a specialist from the No-Maj Affairs division in the Magical Security department to sort out. But for now, Percival just wanted to get home to his townhouse, and to settle everyone in.

There was a small crowd gathered on the dock. There'd been talk aboard ship about the newspapers being fascinated, and relief efforts offering aid, and there were no doubt still relatives and friends waiting for their loved ones. Percival pushed through the crowd, Modesty on his hip and the children following him with Newt at the rear. The children were under the influence of potions of various types and were rather dopey with it, so they barely responded to desperate questions asked by the gathered crowd.

"Please, let us through," Percival called out. "I've got to get these children home. Move aside, please."

"Mr Graves." A woman stepped out in front of him. Her face had a sort of ripple over it that Percival recognised.

"Ms Piquery," he nodded.

"We've arranged transport for you," Seraphina said. "This way, please."

Percival fell into step beside her. "What type of transport?" he asked quietly.

"Cars," Seraphina replied, equally quiet. "Too much…interest for…" She trailed off, enough said to clue Percival in, but enough omitted to keep the secret.

"Have I told you lately that you're wonderful?" Percival asked.

"Not for a few weeks," Seraphina smirked. "Here we are." She stopped by two motor cars, each of which had space for four passengers, and a driver waited in one of the cars.

"Are you driving?" Percival asked Seraphina.

"You'll need to be cleared," she replied, somewhat apologetically. "Is everyone going to your place, or…?"

"Yes, at least for now," Percival nodded. "Newt, Mr Scamander, might want to find his own place, but I offered to put him up at least for a few days."

Seraphina nodded, and let Percival direct everyone into the cars before he joined her, and they set off. "You intend to take in all six children?" she asked.

"I have a duty of care," Percival replied. "Their parents placed them in my care, and I intend to honour that."

"Six children? Isn't that going to be…difficult?"

"It's a little harder than that," Percival admitted. "Mary-Lou Barebone was a Scourer descendant, and she didn't know her husband was a wizard until Credence showed accidental magic. The two girls have shown no signs of magic yet. Jacob Kowalski is a halfblood squib, and Queenie Goldstein is a natural legilimens."

Seraphina very nearly crashed. "Oh you're joking," she said.

"I'm afraid not," Percival sighed. "But Jacob grew up around magic, so it would be rather dodgy to erase that, and just what can we do about the Bareboneses? Being raised by a wizard might help any inherited issues. And you know I've been trained in the mental arts, so I'm not a bad choice for taking in Queenie."

Seraphina sighed. "What about the other Goldstein girl?"

"Wants to be an auror."

"Well, you've got that down pat as well," Seraphina chuckled. "At least you and Scamander aren't going to be problems."

"Erm, Scamander's got fifteen assorted magical beasts in his case," Percival admitted.

"You can't be serious," Seraphina gasped.

"He's after a magizoology apprenticeship, and you know the Beast Division's understaffed," Percival said defensively. "I made up paperwork."

"Of course you did paperwork on a luxury voyage," Seraphina sighed. "It probably won't surprise you to know No-Maj Affairs want to see you and there'll be an inquiry. But we reckon we can probably keep you out of the no-maj Senate inquiry, and I believe the Ministry is taking care of the Board of Trade's inquiry in Britain."

"So just MACUSA's and the Ministry's for me," Percival commented dryly.

"Oh, we're doing a joint inquiry," Seraphina reassured him. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, though. Not unless the papers start crowing about magic tomorrow."

"I'm not that careless," Percival snorted. "What time am I expected tomorrow?"

"Ten o'clock, but McDonald in Magical Security wants to see you at nine," Seraphina told him.

Percival groaned. "And what am I supposed to do with the children for an hour?"

"If that's your problem, you won't last long raising them," Seraphina sniggered.

"I was planning on taking some time off to sort things out," Percival growled. "Look, can you ask Healer Igor in Magical Security if he wouldn't mind giving everyone a check-up? And Newt should see him too."

"Yes, Percival, I, the second most influential department head in MACUSA, will run errands for you," Seraphina sighed.

"You can palm it off on one of your minions," Percival snorted. "I don't have an owl, and I already sent Newt's to you."

Seraphina pulled up in front of Percival's house. "Don't worry, I'll see to it," she told him. "You just take care of your children."

"Thanks," Percival said softly. He turned to the back seat, and found his three little Bareboneses had fallen asleep. "Children? Wake up now."

Grumpy mumbles were his only answer.

"You're going to have to deal with a lot of these things over the next few years," Seraphina smirked.

* * *

Percival took his place in the centre of MACUSA's ICW chamber. He wasn't facing the entire ICW, but it was the best room for joint conferences. Seraphina was there, and her counterpart Augutus Rand. There was Percival's head of Department, Director Daniel McDonald, and Daphne McMillan from Magical Law Enforcement. A few more officials from both sides of the Atlantic made up the panel, and Newt was waiting in case he was required to offer testimony.

"After boarding the Carpathia, I took charge of the children and used Scamander's supplies to brew potions to keep the children calm, mute Queenie Goldstein's legilimency and help Scamander recover. I used his owl to alert MACUSA to the situation and awaited arrival in New York."

Rand leaned forward. "To confirm, Mr Graves. You made no attempt to prevent the sinking?"

"No, sir," Percival replied. "I know next to nothing about the functioning and structure of steamships, so my only options would have been to either charge into the engine room and holds to use Reparo on the damage and Vanish the water, or to levitate the ship for as long as possible. Neither option would have preserved the Statute of Secrecy."

"You couldn't have secretly used magic to save the ship or delay the sinking?"

"It may have been possible, but I don't know how," Percival stated. "I had to choose between saving the no-maj on that ship and maintaining the safety of the magical world."

"So could you give us a list of all the magic you used from the moment you were aware there was a problem on the ship to when you were safely aboard the Carpathia?" McDonald asked.

"Let's see, I think I used a dressing charm, and I probably activated some of the charms in Scamander's case." Percival frowned as he tried to recall everything. "Then I put up and later took down a privacy ward. I put some charms on Newt's case to help protect the creatures inside. I used legilimency through Queenie Goldstein to work out what was happening. Scamander and I did some apparition to get the children close enough to the Boat Deck to get them off in time. Later I activated a tracker rune in Scamander's case, and did a wandless, low-powered Summoner on the rune. Then I did a Finite on Scamander's imperturbable charm, which I think would probably have been noticed. I don't think I used any more magic until after we boarded Carpathia."

"You only attempted to save six people," McMillan commented. "And left four to die. How do you justify that?"

"Romulus and Primadora Goldstein, Joseph Kowalski and Mary Lou Barebone all chose to remain with the ship," Percival said calmly. "As they were adults, I respected their decisions, even if I don't agree with them. As for how many I tried to save, how many could I take responsibility for? There were only six children I could apparate without breaching the Statute."

"So you only tried to save the children from magical families," McMillan confirmed.

"I could not save everyone, but I could save our own," Percival said firmly. "I wish I could have saved more, but I know I did all that was safe to do."

"And you think that's-"

The door banged open. "Sorry, sirs, ma'am, but there's a hippogriff in the Atrium!" someone gasped. "Rider, says he's called Scamander, demanding to know what happened to the Titanic."

Newt stood up. "Sounds like Theseus," he said. "I thought you said you'd asked for him to be told I was fine?"

"Auror Scamander had already left before Madam Piquery firecalled," McMillan told him. "He said he would take the best distance flier he had."

"Oh damn," Newt squeaked. He turned and bolted. Percival ran after him.

"What's the problem?" Percival called.

Newt sprinted towards the elevator. "Not good with people," he yelled back. He hurtled into the elevator, Percival hot on his heels.

"Atrium," Percival instructed the house elf. "You mean the hippogriff or your brother?" he asked Newt.

"Well, both, but mostly the hippogriff. Sounds like he took Laertes," Newt explained. "He's a handful even for my mother."

"And for you?" Percival asked.

Newt snorted. "I hand reared him."

"Of course you did."

The door slid open, and Percival let off a series of whistles with his wand, which all MACUSA employees knew meant to stand aside and let whoever it was past. The hippogriff was easy to see, both due to his height and the zone completely free of people surrounding him. This was due to his extremely aggressive behaviour.

"Laertes!" Newt called, and the rearing hippogriff came down onto all fours. The magizoologist ran up and wrapped his arms around Laertes' neck, staring deeply into the beast's eyes. "Calm, boy, calm," he whispered.

"I thought there was something to do with bowing," Percival commented.

"Not when it's Newt," the hippogriff's rider said, dismounting. It was Theseus.

"You know, I did give specific instructions that you were to be told Newt was alright," Percival commented.

"Oh, shut up," Theseus grunted. He pried his little brother away from the horse-eagle creature and wrapped him in his arms. "Only you, Newt. Take a trip on the safest ship afloat only to have it sink beneath you."

"I got some new pets, though," Newt chirped. "A cat and her four kittens."

"I'm just glad you're safe," Theseus murmured. "And I suppose it's good that you're safe too, Percival."

"Glad to hear it," Percival smiled. "I also have six children now."

"And I'm going to get a governmental apprenticeship here at MACUSA to help Percival look after them," Newt told Theseus.

Theseus glared at Percival. "You've stolen my little brother," he accused.

"He has a thing for caring for magical creatures. Sometimes, they're human creatures," Percival shrugged.

"And it sounds like you're taking him in as well," Theseus smirked.

"Well, I have space, and I could do with a little extra help with childcare," Percival said awkwardly.

"Hey, you saved my baby brother from a shipwreck," Theseus smiled. "I guess you're a good person to keep an eye on him."

"I'm not that bad," Newt whined.

"The niffler?" Percival asked.

Newt paused. "Okay, apart from the niffler."

The two aurors looked at each other, and laughed.

"Oh, come on," Newt whined. "At least there's nothing more dangerous we could have to face."

"No, I don't think so," Percival agreed. "We survived the Titanic. What else can life throw at us?"

 **AN2:**

 **This story is set between the 12th and 19th April 1912, largely aboard the RMS Titanic. The ship struck an iceberg, foundered and sunk at approximately 02:20 am on the 15th April. Due to the speed of the sinking, an insufficient number of lifeboats, a lack of understanding of the urgency of the situation and poor emergency management and training, approximately fifteen hundred people died, including some of my minor characters.**

 **If you want to read the notes I have compiled for this story, including detailing aspects of the sinking, please visit my Tumblr post:**

 **katharkness . tumblr post / 159276668159 / magic - on - the - high - seas - notes (remove spaces)**

 **For a good view of the reality of the sinking, I recommend the film A Night To Remember, which is available on YouTube.**


End file.
